Midnight Clear
by Batteredpen
Summary: When Harry decides to pay Jane a quick pre Christmas visit matters do not go according to plan. A short sequel to 'Next'. What was created by Kudos belongs to Kudos. What is created by me is mine.
1. Chapter 1: Not Quite Midnight

_**This is a short sequel to my very long story 'Next'. I've begun posting at Christmas for obvious reasons although with my usual speed of production I'm likely to finish in the New Year. It will probably be around eight chapters so the plot is minimal. I didn't want to publish something too angst ridden over Christmas.**_

* * *

><p>It wasn't midnight, a glance at his watch proclaimed the hour to be about quarter to eight, but the night sky was certainly clear and the air crisp with night time frost. As he walked the short distance along the path the carrying sound of his feet scrunching over the gravel was magnified in the quietness. A half moon riding in the sky created an eerie glow across the gravestones, leaning like drunken sentinels, silent watchers haphazardly bordering the path edge imparting an air of antiquity. Calm and still the world almost seemed on hold. Here time was measured out gradually by the slowly changing passage of the seasons, not through the breathless urgent minutes that characterised his existence.<p>

He was a stranger here. He fought down an impulse to turn tail and run. Ridiculous, but would she even acknowledge him? He was dangerously aware that he was encroaching on her private territory, his hope of a welcome based solely on a half enigmatic poem written three centuries ago. He who'd faced down terrorists, politicians, and other assorted personages of dubious repute was actually nervous about the prospect of a public rejection by his ex wife. He wasn't even sure that it was wise to seek her out, he hadn't intended to but when, having completed his business at the University, he'd found himself passing nearby on his way back to London on an impulse he'd diverted his journey. At least that was what he was telling himself now as an excuse. The weighty contents of his pocket alone gave the lie to that tale, not to mention, which now he didn't think he would, the very personal request he'd wanted to make of her. Whatever the reason for his presence the current fact was that Sir Harry Pearce was now approaching the heavy wooden age darkened doorway that guarded the entrance into the ancient village church.

Previous experience with old fashioned church door handles had taught him that entering soundlessly was rarely possible. Only the regular faithful knew the exact knack of the twist and lift that would reduce the clanking sound of the old fashioned heavy latch to a mere click. Old spying habits of wanting to blend in seamlessly died hard, so it was with some relief that he noted a flickering ribbon of light bordering the outer edges of the door, an indication that it had been left slightly ajar to accommodate latecomers. Luck seemed to be with him for once. Just as he was metaphorically griding his loins to brave the curious stares of what he assumed would be a small, regular congregation suddenly confronted with a late arriving stranger in their midst, the organist, as if reading his mind, struck up the opening bars of '_It came upon a Midnight Clear'_. He was about four hours too early but no matter, he'd come this far, he might as well see it through.

Easing the door open just far enough to accommodate his bulky personal frame he entered, hoping to avoid exposing those seated at the rear to the building to the chill of a frost laden draft. As he stepped forwards he only just prevented himself from stumbling down the two well worn steps leading to the stone flagged church floor at their base. Pushing the door to behind him, thankful that the hinges had been well tended with oil, he cast his trademark quick appraising glance over the assembled multitude. Instead of the sparse attendance he'd confidently anticipated from the appearance of the packed pews it would appear that most of the village had turned out. The interior lit by what seemed to be endless rows of candles, ones placed in circular cardboard holders, dripping wax and held somewhat unsteadily by those present, many attached to the pew ends, with all the spare surfaces, window ledges, edge of the pulpit likewise decorated with an eclectic variety of candlesticks and tealights. While it as an arrangement that any responsible fire service would undoubtedly have banned, had they been consulted,the overall effect of the flickering flames was both welcoming and slightly eerie. The light in the darkness, (some pieces of holy writ had stuck in his brain), casting shadows that moved with the congregation, most of whom swaying with the tune of the carol. Since the majority of the those present were also attempting to warble vigorously while simultaneously preoccupied with the juggling act required of anyone who sought to read the hymn sheet in the candlelight without setting it alight, his entrance had been relatively unobserved, just the way he liked it.

Having more or less arrived without creating an incident he caught the critical eye of a stern looking woman sitting bolt upright in the rearward pews. If ever there was an archetype of the typical Anglican lady she was it, well disciplined grey hair, no nonsense glasses, tweed suit and firm brogues. The almost total opposite of the woman he'd come in search of. Following the woman's eyeline, supported by a definite nod of acknowledgment, Harry located a small table set beside the back pew, laden with spare copies of the hymn sheets and orders of service. Wanting to maintain a degree of anonymity Harry's swift survey of his surroundings had also informed him that the church's seating arrangements were normal, consisting of three sets of highly uncomfortable wooden pews, the longer ones placed across the centre, giving a direct view of the chancel, with two lines of shorter pews set either side thereby creating a couple of aisles. Detecting that the organist was indulging in an ornate final flourish Harry grabbed the paperwork, he'd pass on the candle, and speedily slipped into the nearest unoccupied pew at the back, just in time to sit in synchronisation with the rest of the congregation.

For once in his life Harry was lacking a certain aplomb. Unsurprisingly, given that at his age, and particularly in his job, his main purpose in entering a church was to attend a funeral. Those were circumstances under which he knew the form, and his intentions, usually the paying of his public respects to the coffined remnants of one of his a slight constriction of the throat he recalled that this was the first time he'd set foot in a place of worship since Ruth's funeral. A thought that was followed by an immediate rush of guilt at his reason for being here. His personal reverie was disturbed as his ears picked up a slight rustling sound. An unobtrusive swivel of his eyes across the aisle noting the actions of the individual sitting opposite reminded him that if he wished to get his bearings it might be wise to consult the order of service. In the dim fluctuating lights afforded by the fluttering candles, he'd left his recent acquired and still unaccustomed reading glasses at home, he squinted at the words. From the information given he appeared to have strayed into the village version of the traditional Nine Lessons and Carols Service, embellished with a few extra musical items and a Nativity play. The latter treat explaining the full attendance. The incumbent was apparently something of wily operator when it came to shoehorning the reluctant across the church threshold. Only the most flinty hearted or preoccupied of parents ever missed the watching their offspring perform the Christmas story, a category that he'd fallen into with many a regret.

He smiled inwardly remembering the one play he'd managed to attend, Catherine as an angel – definitely not type casting – and an even worse antitype Graham as a wise man. '_I bring you frankin smelly'_. One of the first and last occasions, until very recently, when he and Jane had been forced to sit side by side. Teeth gritted, smiling at the children, all the while steaming with a mutual acrimony that eighteen months of divorce had not damped down.

His journey down that less than happy lane of memory was interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice announcing the next lesson. Proclaiming the famous passage from Isaiah that began,

'_For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given...'_

Whether or not you believed the word was a matter of faith or lack of, but when well read the poetry, which he recognised as a salvage operation from historic and in his opinion infinitely more lyrical King James Bible, could hardly fail to move you. Apart from confirming his hunch that this was where she'd be, standing behind the eagle lectern, her articulation clear and strong with every word carrying bell like to the ears of those seated at the back of the church, she was, to him, a breathtaking sight. Even allowing for the flattering ambience of the candlelight she seemed infinitely more at ease than when he'd last seen her at the train station. The result of her being on her home turf? Relief that her divorce was proceeding and she was now on the verge of being rid of Robin? Technically of course Harry shouldn't have known that last, but as Jane had taken his advice and asked Harry's solicitor to act for her he'd been tipped a very discreet wink. If she had noticed him she'd given no indication whatsoever of having done so, no unexplained pause, or stumble, no special look of acknowledgement as she finished with the final sentence, "_This is the word of the Lord'_. Checking the obscuring factor of the crowd combined with the sightlines from where she stood to where he sat, he rather thought she'd missed him, rather hoped in fact. It was a preferable explanation, better than that of being wantonly ignored.

The next name of the programme was vaguely familiar. Dredging his memory Harry recalled the surname of the woman who'd claimed to be bosom buddies with the Chief Constable in the aftermath of the CIA incident a few short weeks ago. He also remembered that Jane loathed the woman for her arty pretentions. It seemed to be a genetic trait as the entire village were now being treated to the sound of Tara Winnick performing, a euphemism for murdering, '_Tomorrow Shall be my Dancing Day'. _Sung in a strained soprano that was half a note under true pitch, and when finally, and thankfully concluded, was also about three beats behind the organ**.** For the duration this recital Harry's mind had ceased to be occupied by thoughts of Jane, he'd been full employed in schooling himself not to wince. The last time he'd experienced such an appalling aural assault was at the hands of Charles Grady, torturer extraordinaire. The reading that followed wasn't much of an improvement, delivered by Emma Winnick in strangled vowels of refinement that aimed at copying Jane's precise Oxford accent: and failed miserably. As Emma over enunciated the final '_Arrr Men'_ the organist, whose fancy finger work on the keys implied that he or she (from this distance Harry was unable to determine the gender) was of the view that the service was a music recital, punctuated by unfortunate pauses during which the philistines spoke, struck up the next tune.

The service wore on, carols, thankfully familiar, and readings, also well known. The traditional English carol service, annual comfort food for the soul with the addition of cute children. Harry, after a long tiring day gradually began to relax, anonymity was a rarely savoured luxury for him, and excluding the efforts of the deplorable Winnick family the contributors had been well chosen. Watching the Nativity play Harry realised that an excellent performance had been teased out of the children, and suspected he knew exactly who had descended from her Shakespearean Olympus to undertake the necessary coaching. With the final carol sung and the blessing pronounced the fresh faced vicar - Harry thought wryly that it was a sign of his age when the clergy, like the police, looked ever younger - beckoned the children forward to process up the aisle in front of him. Marching solemnly they came, Mary battling to hold Joseph's reluctant hand, the tea towelled shepherds, three cardboard crowned kings and a phalanx of tinsel clad angels. It was just as they were by passing the side of Harry's pew that the disaster happened. Relishing her starring role and beaming at the crowd while holding her candle the Virgin Mary forgot to pay attention to her surroundings and bumped into Joseph. With a sudden flare of bright light the edge of her flimsy veil caught the candle and flames started to lick around her ear.

While the woman in the pew opposite succumbed to hysterics and began to screech, Harry, with the reflexes borne of the need to save lives, swiftly snatched the covering from the child's head, threw it on the stone floor and ground it firmly beneath his foot, extinguishing all hint of spark. The whole emergency was over in approximately thirty seconds. The little girl, hair now ruffled, had halted to turn uncertain liquid blue eyes upon him, so reminiscent of another long mourned pair that he displayed a hesitation not in evidence a few seconds earlier. Hastening to return her tentative smile he was nonetheless relieved when one of the shepherds, bored with standing still, gave her a firm shove and the procession set off again circling around the rearward pews and then disappearing down the other side aisle into the sanctity of what would undoubtedly be an over crowded vestry. Standing alone in his pew, while the lingering acrid smell of singed cloth fumigated his nose, Harry was struggling to subdue unbidden memories that were undermining his resolve to stay. The woman whose screams could have easily competed with an express train had now subsided, subdued by irritated glares from the nearby congregation. The same people who were now also staring with interest at the stranger they had entertained unawares, the man whose prompt action had spared the village the ignominy of an incinerated Virgin Mary. So much Harry for remaining unobtrusive and under the village radar, he'd have attracted less attention if he'd arrived astride a farting reindeer while twirling a Santa hat.

Seated in his pew, awaiting the organist's final chord, he wondered once more whether he should just disappear, she hadn't noticed him, he could just drop the whole stupid idea and walk away, before either of them got hurt: again. He'd almost decided to do so and, having handed his carol and service sheets to a beaming child running around the church collecting them, was fumbling inelegantly for his wallet with a view to leaving a donation that did not consist solely of copper in the brass collection plate that some hopeful individual had strategically placed next to the entrance exit door. He'd just located a twenty pound note and was preparing to take an immediate leave when the elderly woman he'd noticed on entering the building came striding forward. Before he could beat a retreat his hand was seized in a finger crushing grip as she declaimed in the carrying unconsciously commanding voice that proclaimed her to be a scion of county stock.

"Jolly close shave that. Trust Tracey Blythe to go off like a steam engine, the child isn't even hers."

All the while she was continuing to grasp his hand so tightly that Harry was wondering if he'd recover feeling in his digits before the need to drive home. Eventually releasing him in time to restore circulation, Ms County finally thought to introduce herself formally. "I'm Lottie Biggs, churchwarden, so welcome Mr..."

Before Harry could decide whether to respond to this invitation by giving his real name, or alternatively skulk behind a legend, the decision was removed from his control when from behind him a soft all too familiar voice said,

"The name's Pearce, Harry Pearce."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading. If you have a moment at this busy time of year please review.<em>**


	2. Chapter 2: The Hall

**_Thanks for the reading and thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter. I'm hoping to post another before Christmas but may run out of time._**

* * *

><p>At the sound of the voice he whirled around, already knowing exactly who was standing behind him. He wasn't wrong. Jane, dressed in warm outdoor clothing, while keeping a distance that respected his personal space was nonetheless greeting him with a lilt of laughter, "Hello Harry. This is unexpected, where did you spring from?"<p>

He took a couple of seconds to respond, initially he'd been too busy drinking in her appearance, noticing that her eyes glowed with warmth and a flicker of pleasure as illuminating as it was good to see. Phew. He hadn't misjudged, he was welcome. Collecting himself he answered her question,

"I had some business at the University and was passing by. When you weren't at home on a Sunday evening just before Christmas I made an accurate guess as to your whereabouts." Having truthfully explained himself he launched the preliminary excuses to leave, "It's obviously not a good time so I'll just ..."

Jane, who knew better than to ask what the business at the University had been, was being ripped apart by conflicting emotions. Their parting about a month ago had left much hanging in the air, to be honest it had left everything hanging the air, and when he'd not contacted her she'd concluded that he'd recanted on his suggestion that they remain friends. She understood the reasons, he was still employed in the field of work that had precipitated many of their marital problems and while the dead fingers of Ruth Evershed remained trained around his heart Harry was in no way free to pursue any form of relationship with another woman, even a platonic one with his ex. Despite this sensible acceptance, achieved only after she'd given herself many a strict talking too, when she, like most of the congregation honing in on the kerfuffle around the flaming Virgin Mary, had seen him standing there, in person, in the flesh, in the village church partaking of the service she'd been stunned. Caught out by this unexpected materialisation her own heart had performed a nervous somersault. Even so her predominating desire to make him welcome was delicately flavoured with a soupcon of irritation at his characteristic lousy timing. _(Jane memo to self: this is the man who chose your wedding day to drop a career bombshell and then stuffed up your first wedding anniversary through getting himself kidnapped by some Irish sectarian sect. Plus __on his own admission he'd proposed to the second love of his life after a funeral.)_ So now, after she'd waited weeks for him to turn up, here he was looking at her expectantly while claiming that he'd just push off. Bloody man, what could one do with him. _(Further memo to self: Jane don't even go there.) _Despite the fact that they were staring at one another in a building replete with a timeless variety of religious symbols Harry's shenignans were in the process of conjuring up her personal devil of uncertainty. If she accepted his half hearted offer to leave he'd take that as a rejection, and heaven alone knew when she'd see him again. On the other hand she was the one who lived here. Hard on the heels of the speculation that had resulted from her shock announcement that she and Robin were divorcing did she really want to suffer the tsunami of gossip that would inevitably attend her being seen to enjoy the company of, (_let's face it Jane_) a very presentable male?

Harry wasn't destined to discover the answer trembling on her lips regarding his polite, privately reluctant, willingness to depart. No more was Jane**. **The opportunity for polite protestations of any nature was dispelled when their joint hesitations were cut sharply through by the county voice announcing decisively.

"Nonsense, you can join us in the Church Hall. Andrea Clark needs to thank you for preventing damage to her idiotic brat."

So much for a quiet private visit to Jane! Harry hadn't received such clear orders since his time training at Sandhurst. At least he had, but he tended to ignore the MI5 variety. Considering that they were still standing in a church Jane, now that the need to make a decision had been negated, was taking a very unholy glee in his discomfort as she reminded him,

"Role reversal Harry. I spent three weeks in your life. Welcome to my world."

Put that way of course it would be churlish to refuse, after all Jane has spent several confusing days enmeshed in the very unholy environs of Section D. It would only be polite to return the compliment.

Defeated on that point Harry decided to bargain. "Very well, on condition that you allow me to escort you home afterwards."

Recognising with relief that he'd just committed himself to staying, without her being forced into couching a reply that sounded either desperate or needy Jane just about thanked him, "Ever the gentleman," before moving on to more practical issues, "Come on then or all Mabel's mince pies will have gone." Looking Harry in the firmly in the eye she added "and more importantly the sherry."

The thought of a church sherry party was enough to make Harry reconsider the option of turning tail. His stomach was already churning at the prospect since it was a toss up which he disliked drinking more, vinegar or liquid sugar. Compromise was the order of the evening then. "I'll pass on the latter, but assuming Mabel's mince pies are as good as her gingerbread lead on."

By now Lottie, impatient to organise elsewhere, was beginning to herd them onwards towards the church door in movements that made Harry wonder if she'd been a sheep dog in an earlier incarnation. Not, he reflected wryly, the most appropriate of thoughts when positioned with both feet firmly planted on the ancient flagstones of an Anglican church. Succumbing to gentle pressure from Jane muttering, "This way," he marched onwards to his fate.

Once outside the crisp frosty air was a refreshing contrast to the wax smelling fug inside the church. Revelling in the sudden coolness on his face Harry felt Jane grasp his arm as she staggered slightly on the slippery uneven path. Steadied, as she attempted to remove her hand he hastily covered it with his own.

"Cling on all you like Jane."

"I thought you preferred independent women. I recall you once describing a friend's date as ivy, as in she clung to everything and tried to choke it."

"That depends on who's doing the clinging Jane."

By now having reached the gate Jane was spared finding an answer, preferring to replicate Lottie's sheep dog tendencies as she steered him out of the graveyard. "The Hall is just this way, about one hundred yards."

The narrow road they were walking along was nearly as uneven as the church path. The tarmac presumably had been overlaid upon a track way whose origins lay in an earlier age, hailing back to an era when wheeled transport was largely limited to horse and cart. Overhung by the winter bared trees of the graveyard, their branches skeletal against the moon and they walked slowly alongside the boundary created by the lichen encrusted stonewall that bounded the church land. The overall atmosphere retained an air of stillness that was not entirely dispelled by the small knots of the chattering groups preceding them, headed, as were Harry and Jane, towards the comforting yellow light outlining what Harry assumed where the curtained windows of the Hall.

Thankful that he'd parked his own car on the nearby deserted green Harry casually noticed a large dark but otherwise unremarkable van parked very inconveniently in the sole spot where the lane widened a little, the local road planners vague gesture towards providing a somewhat inadequate passing place. Aware that many drivers had forgotten that their legs were originally made for walking not just pushing clutch, accelerator and braking pedals Harry was about to vent his views on the total lack of consideration being displayed when Lottie who was walking just behind commented.

"Really do I wonder that whoever has such inconsiderate visitors hasn't instructed them in proper behaviour. Parking like that is a disgrace."

Alarmed that he was inclined to agree with her, the fact that the censorious Lottie had actively forced him hallwards implied to Harry that he'd passed some sort of covert churchwarden test of acceptability, by how many percent points he could only speculate. Feeling a quiver of laughter running through Jane he took advantage of her next stumble to cast a quick appraising glance at her face. She seemed happy, and as he'd thought earlier, so much more relaxed than when they'd parted a few weeks ago. His last glimpse of her having been of an upright strained back walking away from him to catch the train that would remove her from his life and of course vice versa. Glad as he was for her could only attribute this present attitude to her pleasure in kicking Cock Robin, and probably himself, out of her life. He felt a stab of envy as well, if only he could overcome his past so easily. A wish followed almost immediately by the anguished question as to whether he really, truly, would ever want to wipe out all his memories of Ruth, even with the everlasting pain, the dull ache of guilt that remained with him. He'd finally come to accept that Jane's comments, when he'd finally broken down and admitted his whole angst ridden history of Ruth, mixed as it was with the whole sordid story of Elena, were not wholly inaccurate. Acknowledging that it was better to have loved and lost etc etc etc, yet again he wondered why he was here, what was he expecting, perhaps he should just cut and run. If that had ever seriously been his intention he'd left it too late, they'd arrived at the church hall.

In the darkness Harry could make out little regarding the exterior other than it was a single storey building unremarkable in every way. The interior, at first, second and third sight was equally utilitarian, plank wooden flooring, its once polished surface generously scored with the usage of generations, scuffed chocolate brown gloss paintwork combined with flaking whitewashed walls. The only significant feature, and that was not uncommon, a basic stage positioned at the far end of the room, the original bright crimson colour of its concealing curtains having long since faded into a dull nondescript red. Despite this less than sparkling decor the building itself seemed sound enough, no hint of roof leaks marred the ceiling whose fluorescent strip lights made Harry blink as he entered.

For once, although he would despise to show it, he was a little out of his social comfort zone. On the increasingly rare occasions on which he ventured into the world beyond the Grid it was usually to seek shelter in the oak lined precincts of his club or to attend black tie formal events, the most recent of which had seen him shot. Otherwise his social encounters consisted of occasionally joining his staff for drink at the George, although these days he even avoided that more often than not, too many memories, not just of Ruth but also Ros...Adam... Facing current reality, glancing around to take his bearings he realised that a number of the more expensively dressed members of the religious throng regarding him with laser beamed stares. If this was the normal reaction to strangers in their midst it was small wonder that the Church of England was rapidly bleeding members. A firm nudge from Jane pushed him towards the stage end of the hall where stood a number of food laden trestle tables additionally decorated with the religiously bizarre mixture of jolly red faced Santas intermingled with anaemic angels and holly. Bearing in mind some of the pagan customs hijacked by the very early Christians he gazed ceilingwards with a degree of alarm. Thank God, no mistletoe. Jane was one proposition, Lottie and her incipient moustache was quite another.

Harry's progress down the hall was halted when he was suddenly waylaid by an agitated woman who seized his hand to pump it vigorously while speaking very quickly, "Thank you so much for rescuing my daughter. I said it was dangerous, all those candles and children."

Lottie's strident tones and equally strident opinions intervened. "Nonsense Andrea, the only danger is when children fail to follow instructions properly."

Andrea, the mother tigeress, vehemently objecting to this criticism of her darling child, seemed ready to square up for a fight, but battle was mercifully averted by the arrival of the Vicar. At closer quarters Harry realised he was not quite as youthful as he'd seemed in the candlelit church. Around thirtyish he thought, tall and appeared to be blessed with a casual charm that reminded Harry of the late Adam Carter, although in colouring he more closely resembled Lucas...blast it he kept forgetting... not Lucas North, John Bateman**. **

While Harry was speculating the man in charge, a nominal designation given that Lottie was standing next to him twitching to usurp the instant he contradicted her, skilfully choked them both off as he poured a deluge of the traditional oil over troubled waters. "Yes Andrea, we'll re-think the children carrying candles next year, in the meantime Mr er..."

Keen to reveal as little of his identity as was consistent with being sociable the reply was simple and friendly, "Harry please."

"Harry it is. We are very much in your debt. Ah Jane is here to rescue you and with her to say thank you ..."

Harry once again found himself staring into the deep blue eyes of the moppet, still wearing a long blue dress, who held up a mince pie as she lisped. "Fanks Sir. I've brought you a pie.' "The effect rather marred by her twisting around to ask in a stage whisper. "Was that alright Mummy?"

Mummy, failing to reply, was looking very embarrassed, her confusion rescued by Harry's smiling response to her daughter. "That was very alright, and thank you for the pie."

With one hand holding the plate and pie he was unable to resist Jane's thrusting a glass into his other hand, with the words. "And something to wash it down with."

Before he could protest hush fell as the Vicar clambered onto the stage. Having positioned himself in front of the tatty moth eaten velvet curtains, whatever spiritual statement he was about intone was suddenly drowned out by a plinky plonk sound, an indication that some enterprising children, having assuaged their boredom by wriggling beneath the threadbare nap were now amusing themselves by loudly hammering out chopsticks on a very out of tune piano. A cacophonous recital that in musical terms was still infinitely more melodious than the noise perpetrated earlier by Tara Winnick. Making a shudderingly unwelcome aural association Harry noted that the delightful teen, whose tasteful makeup tips seemed to have originated from the _'Plasterers' Gazette',_ was currently flashing her heavily mascaraed eyelashes in what Harry assumed would prove a futile attempt to attract the hapless vicar. Harry the experienced serial seducer of yesteryear and eligible single man, currently being stalked by those seeking to assuage his pangs of loneliness, possessed few illusions about the challenge that the dog collar would present to some members of the female population, especially when that symbol of moral untouchability was being worn by someone who, in a modern parlance, was definitely a babe magnet. James was either oblivious to this manifestation of the occupational hazard, or feigning ignorance as he tactfully removed the children with the request, '_Come and help Mabel hand around the crisps'. _Having obtained the requisite silence he then proceeded to display a very unusual clerical grasp of the fundamentals of life. Recognising that with all the mouth watering nibbles on offer few would want to be held up by the lengthy prayerful demands of religion he uttered a speedy grace, "For food and fellowship we thank you Lord" followed by, "Thank you for coming friends and strangers alike. To everyone who took part tonight your contributions were appreciated, once again thanks to Mabel for the delicious looking catering. Finally a happy and holy Christmas to you all."

While that last sentence put Harry forcibly in mind of Tiny Tim, a child of nauseating piety, in realistic terms he fully appreciated that the incumbent could say little else. What was the alternative? _"Have a horrible time_" Not really. The dog collared one wasn't to know that for Harry, who along with Malcolm had volunteered for the Christmas shift, a dire day was a definite possibility.

The reference to strangers had, not unnaturally, directed a great deal of attention back onto Harry, not all of it friendly. Seeing several pairs of curious eyes centred upon him Harry prepared to sacrifice his tastebuds in the interests of conformity and took a small sip of his sherry. He could always eschew the rest on the plea that he was driving. To his astonishment it was excellent. Jane registering his shock explained in an undertone,

"Steven sorts out the booze in his role as the parish's semi resident alcoholic. He reckons that if he has to come to these things he wants a decent drink." Adding as an afterthought "You two should have a lot in common."

"You say the nicest things Jane. Oof..."

The last caused by something suddenly cannoning into the back of his legs, nearly making him topple over onto Jane. Harry was deeply thankful that he'd just about managed to keep his balance. He'd done his fair share of grappling with women in the past, especially Jane, but never in public. Turning around to face the source of the thump he heard someone being berated. Looking down he saw a small boy aged about seven snivelling, while his mother continued to admonish him for his carelessness.

"Wayne, say sorry to the gentleman."

Wayne casting his eyes to the floor totally ignored his mother as he continued to snuffle. "I've lost a bit off me Bionicle.'

Harry was slightly banjaxed by this bizarre utterance until the boy held up for his attention a red construction that approximated to the human body shape. Looking near his foot he noticed a piece of red plastic wedged between a gap in the floor boards. Bending down he retrieved it to the grateful sound of "_Ta Mister_." as the child waved the figure expectantly at him. Securing the piece to what seemed to be the appropriate fastening Harry enquired, "What is a bionicle?"

Mum developed a longsuffering face as Wayne, tears gone, began an excited talk in which the words _'Mata Nui', Toa'_ and other weird phrases were all jumbled up. More incomprehensible than the average terrorist rant Harry did manage to glean the words '_Lego_', '_belonged to our Tom'_ and '_not made now'_ from the verbal soup. When Wayne had finally wound down Harry expressed a polite gratitude, "Thank you for explaining Wayne. Lego's changed a bit since my son was your age." All the while fighting the pang arising from the memory that when Graham was this child's age he'd been a divorced father rarely seeing his son. Wayne, more used to adults yawning, and possessed of the childhood habit of classifying everyone over thirty as being the same age asked excitedly, "How old is your little boy?"

"Not so little Wayne, he's nearly thirty."

Wayne was not to be deflected from his interrogation. "Do you have a little girl as well?"

Harry proof against most forms of questioning baulked at rebutting an innocent youngster, "Yes but she's older than my son."

The torrent of questions was mercifully halted by Mum rescuing Harry via a firm instruction to her son. "That's quite enough Wayne, time we took you home." With a nod to Harry she added, "And thanks for being so understanding." as Wayne was summarily removed from his orbit.

With no one to distract him Harry had the opportunity to notice that the crowd was gradually thinning as some had evidently decided it was time to head for home. Those still standing around munching and imbibing came under the generic heading of mature, a euphemism for elderly or ancient, or alternatively were the parents of older children, mainly teenagers who'd been dragged along and were now seated in a phone texting huddle at the far end of the building. Unfortunately for Harry the departing contingent had included the nativity play brigade most of whom, after Harry's quick thinking and avuncular response to their children, had taken to him. Whereas the teenagers indulging in their electronic sulk at being forced to attend something so uncool were just ignoring him, several members of the remaining, allegedly adult crowd, were those who from the moment he'd stepped across the Hall threshold had been glaring at him with the unspoken hostility Harry more commonly encountered from those he had just bested in a Thames House operation. Unusually in Harry's experience it was the women not the men who were giving him the evil eye, matched by an occasional condemnatory glance spinning in Jane's direction. A mystery solved when Jane whispered a warning. "Robin's fan club."

Harry, instantly enlightened, commented, "Ah the drinkies and social climbing set."

The shadow of a grimace crossed Jane's face as she begged, "Yes and don't, please don't, let on that you're not a Mr, I couldn't stand the fawning."

Harry was about to reassure her that he only ever dusted down his title when attending formal occasions or when forced into revelation by extreme circumstances. Using it to hijack the homage of Robin's groupies didn't qualify, even if he'd wanted their adoration, which he certainly didn't. Before he could assuage Jane's worries on that account the Vicar, having realised that the welcome of his remaining flock was not the religious world's greatest advert for evangelism, approached Harry again.

"Sorry I didn't really get a chance to introduce myself properly, I'm James Endersley, vicar of this and a couple of other parishes. I gather you're a friend of Jane's."

Harry wasn't certain if this was a fishing comment, but if so it was phrased tactfully, entirely lacking the insinuation that many would put into those words. Even so the answer wasn't easy, not least because Harry wasn't sure if he and Jane were actually friends.

Temporising, "We go back a long way, to university in fact. I had some business there today so thought I'd look her up while I was passing." Well it wasn't exactly a lie.

Any inclination James had to enquire further was prevented by a middle aged woman, jangling with baubles that made a Christmas tree look overdressed by comparison, materialising at his side. From the over enunciation Harry identified her immediately as Emma Winnick in the first instance, and from the filthy look she shot at him, clocked her as a member of Robin Tindall appreciation society in the second. It wasn't easy to ignore Harry, he radiated a natural air of presence and power, but Emma Winnick embarked on her tunnel vision quest didn't succumb as she elbowed him aside, pointedly turned her back to him as she prepared to monopolise James' attention.

It was with some amusement that Harry noticed a flash of disgust cross the cleric's face at such a blatant display of bad manners. "_Not so saintly then_". Harry wasn't a great one for religion, years of dealing with fundamentalist nutters of all descriptions had tended to diminish his respect for it, but now confronted with the church in action it occurred to him, for the first time, that being a clergyman wasn't, in an increasingly secular age, necessarily an easy call. Given him MI5 any day of the week, at least he didn't have to be endlessly polite to any idiot who came along, or coo over a community of volunteers all of whom presumably thought God was on their side in a dispute. The only time he had to worry about someone taking their bat and ball home was when England looked like losing the Ashes.

Emma Winnick meanwhile having obtained her audience was gushing wildly,

"Such a wonderful evening and so lovely to see everyone in a full church. My Tara's singing was so admired by one and all."

Before James could summon up a sensible response that didn't do violence to the ninth commandment Jane, in what Harry recognised as her mischief voice silenced for years in his hearing suggested,

"You really ought to ask Harry's opinion, he's something of habitué at the Royal Opera House and a connoisseur of vocal performance."

Emma Winnick, taking this news on board, failed to see the sardonic gleam in Jane's eyes as she cast them Harrywards with a twinkle that basically announced, "Get out that one."

Harry, as ever when challenged, rose to meet it, stating sincerely in his most mellifluous tones, "I can truthfully say that the sound of Tara's voice is unique. I've heard nothing like it before."

Rapt with this apparent appreciation it was fortunate that Emma Winnick, gazing in Harry's direction, failed to see James biting his underlip while flicking his eyes from Harry to Jane who were seizing the moment to indulge in a private eye contact, expressing mutual amusement. James had to admit, he was increasingly intrigued by this mystery man with the excellent manners who was giving little away about himself.

James' speculations were disturbed when a sudden almighty clash resounded across the Hall. The noise emanating from the stage area beside the table, where Mabel still held sway, made them all jerk their heads in that direction. The strong smell of sherry combined with the shards of several wine glasses shattered across the floor and now being crunched underfoot by a body staggering around meant that no great exercise of detective skills was required to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. It was apparent to all that a gentleman, already somewhat inebriated had, while in the act of pouring yet another drink, had toppled with his full weight against the trestle table with results as seen. A wholly unnecessary confirmation of provided by Lottie's crystalline condemnation.

"Emma kindly take your husband home, he is clearly unfit for company."

Emma while bridling with indignation wasn't about to take on Lottie, the sole glimmering of intelligence Harry had so far perceived in her. Instead she called her family to order, "Tara, Crispin, Giles come. We're leaving."

Crispin, a youthfully handsome boy of about seventeen looking somewhat discomfited, showed some slight sense of conscience as he managed to stammer, "But Mum. The mess!"

"I'm sure Mabel can deal with that." Emma swept out on her metaphorical high horse followed by her family, Giles weaving his way unsteadily, Tara tossing her hair in imitation of whichever starlet she was modelling herself upon, with an uncomfortable shamefaced Crispin still glancing behind him bringing up the rear. As the door swung shut behind them Jane and Lottie were united in mutual if silent fury. A seething Jane turned back to Harry and James,

"Would you excuse me, I need to help Mabel."

The Winnick family's departure had hastened that of all but a few stragglers. As Jane, Lottie and Mabel were taking the opportunity to start packing away the few remaining eatables on the excuse of clearing the mess the hint was duly taken and within five minutes of the incident only Harry and James were left in the Hall along with the female trio. Harry wondering if he should help with the clearing up or if he should just leave. That last thought stymied by Jane's calling, "If you're thinking of running away don't. I at least owe you a cup of coffee after this."

His other option of offering to help was spiked by James advising him, "Mabel will have been a little upset by Emma, experience suggests that Jane and Lottie will be better at cheering her up than my humble self."

Since smoothing down upset females was one of the few tasks Harry shied away from he had to admire this demonstration of the art of clerical delegation. He acquired even more respect when James lightly touching his dog collar added, "Thanks to this I'm debarred from expressing a frank opinion." Warming to the man by the minute Harry shot him a one of his rare smiles as he commented, "Presumably the reason why the spouse is often accused of murder."

"You think that, I could not possibly comment." While Harry was debating the possibility that James had somehow outed him as a habitué of Whitehall Harry's own comment had in its turn reawakened James' curiosity as to Harry's marital status. The absence of wedding ring indicated nothing whatsoever, beyond the fact that he didn't wear one. James on a polite fishing trip opened with a more neutral enquiry

"And your profession Harry, or are you retired?"

The slight twist in Harry's heart as he considered the circumstances that had made him stay on in post caused an imperceptible pause as he replied "Not yet, I'm a civil servant. Basically I advise the government on criminal activity and statistics."

James had noted the very slight shadow in Harry's eyes as he spoke, although he ignored it as he replied to this revelation with a light, "That could be a job for life if you wanted it."

Repressing the thought that it was more usually a job for death: in Harry's line of work, even though he found the existence of James' God a very dubious proposition, that he hadn't, as yet, died in post was a minor miracle. Pushing away the memories of all those deaths, especially one, and determined to keep the conversation as impersonal as possible he asked in what he trusted was a causal conversational tone,

"So in the interests of informal research what is the biggest problem around here, poaching, larceny – characters getting a bit too friendly with the sheep."

James responded with a groan, "In the past possibly but at present lead thieves. They've stripped a number of church roofs in the district, the regulations on heritage building state that we must replace like for like."

"Meaning that they then whip the replacement lead." Harry was no screaming modernist but he could understand why the heritage lobbies were sometimes regarded with disdain as a set of fossiled relics with so little appreciation of the realities of the modern world they might as well have based their offices on Mars.

Before he could convey his opinion Jane came over.

"All done Harry. I hope you don't mind escorting me back to my place with Mabel accompanying us."

A rhetorical question of course. Was he likely to insist that Mabel struggle home on her own!

"No objection at all Jane but at your age do you really think you require a chaperone."

"Leaving aside the chivalrous reference to my age – how you ever managed to charm any woman defeats me now – Mabel is encumbered with a few cake tins so I thought..."

Straightening himself up with an ostentatious squaring of his shoulders he assured her, "Harry the pack horse at your service m'lady."

Standing on the sidelines of this verbal ping pong match without making any comment but watching avidly as the pair made their way out of the hall with a bundled up Mabel between them James found himself increasingly intrigued by the relationship between Jane and this stranger. Whatever it was they were clearly much more to one another than just old friends.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading and if, in the middle of all the pre Christmas hassle you have a chance to review please do so.<strong>_

_**The line 'You may say that' etc comes from the British version of 'The House of Cards' broadcast in the early 1990s**_


	3. Chapter 3: Jane's House

_**Thanks to all those who read and even more to those who reviewed. I've just about reached my Christmas deadline for posting. As I predicted when posting the first chapter although this story is set around Christmas it won't be finished before the 25th - in fact with five more chapters to come it is likely to extend well into post Christmas hangover that is January. Sorry but I admit to being a slow writer. **_

* * *

><p>Stepping out from the warmth of the hall the contrast with the bitingly cold air made all three of them catch their breath. Even Harry the Cold War veteran who'd previously experienced sub zero temperatures during his youthful adventuring behind the Iron Curtain was prey to a sudden shivering. While they'd been joyously carousing indoors with the graciously welcoming holy huddle a cold hard frost had descended outside, rendering the pathways even more slippery than before. The gravelled track that led down from the hall to the tarmaced lane provided an adequate grip for shoes, but once they'd reached the public roadway the gritty underfoot terrain gave way to something more akin to an ice rink. Jane, the first to step out, very nearly found her feet skidding from under her as thin soled boot made its preliminary incautious contact with the treacherous ground. She saved herself from sprawling inelegantly across the path by the dint of a frantic grabbing of Harry, who, following one step behind her had remained more securely anchored to terra firma.<p>

"Careful Jane, if I land on top of you you'll really end up squashed."

If it hadn't been for Mabel's presence Jane might have reminded him that in previous years that hadn't been an entirely unknown or indeed entirely unpleasant experience for her, as it was she merely countered with, "I'm fine. I've got my balance now."

Venturing his own foot, shod with a more substantial tread, onto the ground Harry gave the treacherous surface an exploratory skid.

"Very well. I could go for my car." He hoped his reluctance to do so was absent from his voice. The immediate area was dark, narrow and dangerously encrusted with black ice. Christmas was not the time to write your car off. Especially when the subsequent contacting of the Grid to either demand a rescue driver or explain his unscheduled absence would precipitate a slew of enquires from his staff, ostensibly relating to Jane's well being, although in actuality a thinly disguised attempt to confirm their all too obvious hope that their boss's personal life was finally being subjected to a much needed upturn.

"Thanks Harry, glad as I am that you've been cleared for driving," Pausing briefly as he shot her a warning look which advised her that, if in nothing else, they were at least united in a preference to ensure that the events of a few weeks ago remained securely under local wraps, she hurriedly explained, "I'd rather keep moving than freeze here while you fetch it." Just in case he was inclined to protest she added a clincher, "And that van is still blocking the only road wide enough to allow you to manoeuvre."

Thankful that Mabel hadn't picked up on Jane's careless slip, Harry bowed to her local knowledge of the terrain, especially when her advice was endorsed by his own observations. Since, if they didn't start to move forthwith, they would rapidly be developing a marked resemblance to the rigid, icicle dusted angels decorating the tombstones, Harry proffered the only acceptable alternative to them lingering at the roadside.

"Very well, but can I suggest that you seize one arm and Mabel my other to steady yourselves."

The grateful clutch of two hands gripped his limbs tightly, accompanied by what Harry trusted would not become a self fulfilling prophecy as Jane laughed, "And then we'll all celebrate Christmas with a broken leg a piece."

"More repairable than broken head, believe me."

Further speech ceased, subsumed by the effort required to remain upright. Mabel, a small woman with a network of facial wrinkles that placed her age as quite obviously eighty plus was remarkably spry for her years, which was fortunate since despite Jane's house being less than a mile away the ice made it inadvisable for the unsteady elderly to venture forth. It was only as they slithered past the slight widening in the roadway, in whose recessive shelter the nuisance making dark van stood brooding without any lights, that Mabel spoke for the first time.

"Who can they be visiting I wonder? The Gregsons are away, you know Jane, visiting their daughter as the baby is due any time, lovely girl and then the Roberts, I think they have their parents staying but as he's unable to drive... a mild stroke two years ago...or perhaps..."

The verbal floodgates having opened Mabel's now loosened tongue cantered onwards, effectively ensuring that Harry and Jane had no chance to converse as her endless chatter dominated the rest of the walk. Together they all slid and staggered in a rough unison past the church, diagonally across the green where Harry's car still stood - deserted, solitary and in urgent need of de-icing - to be greeted by the obstacle of the stone packhorse bridge that spanned a small, and at present, partly frozen stream. Having succeeded in their struggles to cross this successfully, mindful of the ever present hazard of crashing over the low parapet into the shallow but icy depths below, they celebrated this minor victory by halting for a moment. All three of them feeling the need to take a short breather as an essential precursor to tackling the looming incline that marked the final stage of their journey towards the small executive development wherein were domiciled Jane, Mabel and, regrettably, the utterly odious Emma Winnick. This last effort had effectively stemmed the tsunami of information emanating from Mabel, although by now anything that Harry didn't already know about the various local relationships, personal and genealogical, could have been written on the back of a postage stamp with room to spare. Jane, grabbing a quick moment from her concentrated attempts to remain upright thought she saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his face. If a terrorist was ever unwise enough to make this allegedly off the radar village the epicentre of their plotting MI5 would have a head start on Intel thanks to the stream of information that Mabel had just poured into Harry's unobstructed ears. Harry while amused by Mabel's seemingly never ending dissertation had also detected within her various comments a shrewdness that surprised him. A chatterbox without a doubt, but equally not a fool. Confronted with the effort of scaling this miniature Everest while maintaining her balance Mabel has paused before finally concluding with a touch of apology, "But I'm sure you didn't want to know all this boring village trivia." The sadness in her voice sending Harry mind whirling backwards a few weeks ago to Jane's comment,

'_Mabel is a very generous and helpful soul. She might like to gossip about some things, but that is due largely to loneliness. When she moved into the village her husband was still alive, he was a local councillor so a person of importance. After he died the local in crowd instantly dropped her as superfluous to requirements.'_

Recalling that the appalling Emma Winnick had obviously classified Mabel as belonging the category labelled _'ultra inefficient kitchen maid'_, and therefore beneath her snobby notice, Harry's protective instincts were racing to the fore as he surged with a pang of indignation and sympathy on Mabel's behalf – who the hell was Emma to patronise Mabel! Considering their joint contributions to the evening's revels while the one had assaulted his eardrums the other soothed his taste buds. He knew who he'd be rooting for, a thought well to the forefront of his mind as he hastily refuted her admittedly truthful assessment.

"Not at all – you were talking about people and their lives, life is not a trivial topic." _'I should know I've spent most of my life trying to save those of others.'_

Having mustered this reply just as they'd finally reached the ultimate destination of Jane's driveway he heard an unexpected groan from his would be hostess. Concerned that she might have hurt herself during their struggles he turned, and then followed the line of her eyes which were staring straight ahead. From the dull glow filtering through the surrounding variety of curtained windows it would seem that they were the last of the residents to arrive home. All he could discern was that one pair of windows, set at an angle overlooking Jane's front garden, remained well lit and open to the world, exposing a room stuffed full of expensive furniture and framed reproductions, that even from this distance Harry could identify as Sunday supplement modern art. Consequently he was somewhat perplexed by Jane's attitude until her explanation revealed all,

"Emma, she's spying to see if you come in, with a view to spreading tittle tattle around the village."

While Jane understandably didn't see the humour pertaining to the situation Harry was sardonically appreciating the superb irony that saw him, Sir Harry Pearce superspy, being tracked by the amateurish Emma Winnick. However not wanting to cause any further difficulties for Jane he said quietly, "Now I've escorted you safely home, I'll just go." Mentally cursing Emma Winnick, especially when he saw the look of regret that passed across Jane's features _(Would Jane consider a kill order on the woman to be acceptable as a Christmas present – not really as I can't gift wrap it). _Hoping to ease her obvious disappointment Harry reassured her, "I promise I'll contact you early in the New Year."

In a tart voice that took Harry by surprise it was Mabel who answered on Jane's behalf,

"What and let Madam win! She'll gossip anyway and I don't see why she should stop Jane inviting a nice young man in for coffee."

Only someone with eighty plus summers under her belt could possibly have characterised Harry as young, while various other bodies - those he'd left alive and standing - would have taken issue with the description nice, but cynical spook that he was, he was hardened neither against a sincerely meant compliment, however inaccurate, or the very real affection he detected Mabel had for Jane. Emboldened by this unexpected defence and taking a punt on Mabel possessing a sense of humour he chuckled evilly,

"Let's give her something to talk about. How about inviting Mabel in with us? Then Emma can suggest we're having a threesome."

"Harry, not in front of Mabel!" Jane scandalised tones were matched by an apprehensive look towards her neighbour, who responded by patting her arm comfortingly,

"Don't worry about me my dear. I was a teenager in London during the war, the things that went on in the Tube stations during air raids you wouldn't believe."

Harry smirking inwardly was beginning discover within himself a great liking for Mabel, while Jane pondering the suggestion finally agreed, "Very well then," prior to fumbling in her bag for her house keys. As they moved up the path Harry noticed a shadow skimming across the still unobscured window. From the outline he divined that it was Emma trying to obtain a closer look, blissfully unaware that her efforts to be covert were being severely hampered by her standing in the exact spot whereby her distinctive dumpy shape was fully illuminated by the light behind her.

Jane as she poked her key into the door snapped with ill disguised irritation, "That woman really is shameless – Harry!"

On receipt of a pretended friendly wave from Harry the woman had retreated and was now at least partly drawing the drapes, a lingering beam of light indicating that her information gathering activities remained operational.

"That's nothing to the gesture I'd like to make Jane."

Once inside the welcome centrally heated warmth of Jane's house all three of them, having shed their coats in the small hallway, stepped into the sitting room. Harry without seeming to stare was absorbing the decor. The interior was entirely innocent of anything relating to the perfidious Robin. The very impersonal atmosphere described by Laura on her first visit had been banished, replaced by a riot of personal taste, photographs of Catherine and Graham on the wall, books, DVD's and ornaments on the shelves, colours that Harry remembered were Jane's favourites, overall an ambience that was so very, very Jane. Sinking down into a comfortably squishy sofa Harry began to relax for the first time in the evening and with that also began to feel ever so slightly sleepy. The pangs of Morpheus were, for now, destined to be staved off by Mabel's renewed torrent of chatter, Jane having vanished into the kitchen to wrestle with a cafeteria.

Mabel was expressing her anxieties out loud, "I do hope Emma doesn't make trouble for Jane – she became really foul when Jane announced she was divorcing Robin, made all sorts of insinuations about Jane not supporting him and never being around and she's such a lovely person."

Harry assumed this last was a reference to Jane not Emma. Lovely wasn't the description he'd have employed a few weeks ago to described his ex – but circumstances since had ensured that he'd become insatiably curious about Jane's home life in his absence and Mabel was an impeccable source of Intel.

"When Arnold my husband died Jane was such a support, so very good helping me go to church when I was too depressed and couldn't face going on my own. Taking me shopping, just calling round for a chat when no one else came, she's been like a daughter to me."

It forcibly occurred to Harry that the relationship between Mabel and Jane was one of mutual support and he, while envious, was glad for Jane's sake. He knew exactly what it was like to feel alone both mentally and physically, it wasn't something he wanted for her. Mabel was continuing her informative monologue, "I'm afraid dear Jane has had bad luck with husbands. I don't know anything about her first as she never talks about her troubles, I only found out how awful Robin was being to her when she finally broke down one day – her sister was really ill, chemotherapy side effects, and he was complaining that she was spending all her time with Rebecca instead of being around for him. I heard him once yelling that she should be grateful he'd taken her and the children on when her first husband didn't want to know."

Harry wondered how Mabel would take the revelation that she was seated in the presence of Jane's uncaring first husband but while he was debating the wisdom of revealing his exact identity Jane emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with three mugs and cafeteria. Her arrival being the signal for Mabel to haul herself out of her armchair.

"Thank you but I'll skip coffee. I'll go home now my dear. I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up with."

Even as they both uttered polite disclaimers Harry was struck again by the kernel of understanding contained within Mabel's witterings as she threw a very knowing smile in his direction, "I see Jane most days but thank you Harry it's been a pleasure to meet you."

Jane recognising when someone was adamant, she'd had plenty of practice when married to Harry, insisted, "Very well Mabel but I'm walking you to your door – with luck Emma's now sitting down telephoning everyone in the village with the latest version of my scarlet woman antics."

Mabel, now out of Harry's sight as she retrieved her coat from the passageway, but blessed with the raised voice of the slightly deaf was heard to say as they departed, "She's just jealous my dear – when did an attractive man last show any interest in her."

Harry, having already gained the approval of Lottie, now felt as if he'd passed the hurdle of some sort of unspoken mother in law test. The one he'd failed miserably when married. The other part of his mind was still wondering if he'd been wise to come, it was good to see Jane happy and relaxed but he was all too aware of the slant that the likes of Emma Winnick would put on their relationship. He'd unintentionally made Jane the centre of uncomfortable gossip, perhaps he should just leave. Even as he considered that option he knew he'd reject it – as an activity it smacked of sneaking out of a woman's bedroom in the middle of the night without saying goodbye or even thanks. He'd done his fair share of that in his youth and what was unbecoming in youth was inexcusable in late middle age. It did make him wonder though if he should mention the underlying reason for his unexpected visit. Perhaps not, he'd just sit back and wait, have a coffee and leave. It occurred to him as he sank cosily into the sofa – he must congratulate Jane on her comfortable seating - that she'd been absent for longer than he expected, Mabel's tongue in action he assumed. Harry didn't really follow any thought through, the insidious warmth of the room and a long day had taken their toll as he gently dozed off.

Jane returning some twenty minutes later really felt that she owed Harry an apology. He obviously wanted to talk to her, as badly no doubt as she wanted to talk to him. Although she'd never plucked up the courage, after sending him her house keys and that note, to initiate any further contact with him, she'd hated the thought that he might think she was shunning him over Ruth Evershed. It was simply that she'd needed time to consider the outcomes of those frantic three weeks during which they'd attempted to reconnect with one another, and then the hassle of Christmas had intervened. Suddenly, unexpectedly he'd arrived, she wasn't entirely sure why or what he was seeking but of one thing she was certain, tonight Harry had for her sake endured an evening of the type he'd normally avoid. She appreciated his social efforts and his sensitivity in suggesting that he should leave, as she'd also appreciated his tolerance of Mabel. Entering the room quietly she saw him half stretched on the sofa, his chest rising and falling gently. It would be cruel to disturb him but oh dear, would they ever get the chance to talk.

Moving over towards him she noticed how tired he looked, shadows under his eyes bespoke overwork and his face, even in repose, seemed drawn. Some long denied quasi maternal instinct overtaking her she leant over him and brushed her lips gently against his cheek.

Within seconds a pair of strong arms were encircling her, pulling downwards as she was ruthlessly kissed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This will be my last post before Christmas. Apologies as it is not an ideal point at which to delay posting. In the meantime a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone wherever they are in the world.<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4: Conversation with Difficulty

_**Many thanks to all who read and even more to those who reviewed my last chapter. A belated happy New Year to you all. **_

* * *

><p>While the breath was being squeezed out of her and with limited room for manoeuvre, Jane wasn't sure as to her reaction. Her mind might be sending out the instruction that responding to Harry's embrace was a very bad idea indeed, but in so doing it had embarked upon a furious contest with her body, which was persistently transmitting a very different message.<p>

Mind v body: head v heat. She was grateful to be spared making a decision, even if it came at the price of being tipped unceremoniously onto the carpet, narrowly avoiding concussion by coffee table when she was sent sprawling, the logical result of Harry's having released her just as suddenly as he grabbed her, once again without the benefit of warning.

Staring upwards from her floor based worm's eye vantage point she could see the half awake Harry now sitting bolt upright up, his face stamped with appalled bafflement as he gazed down at her. While she was temporarily occupied with heaving herself into a more dignified position the last clinging vestiges of sleep were fleeing from his face as he began to process exactly what had taken place. Almost stammering with embarrassment, in itself a rarity since spies didn't, in the normal run of life, do embarrassment,

"God I'm sorry Jane I didn't mean..." at which point he faltered, recognition having dawned that whatever he said next, however tactfully he attempted to phrase it, would be insulting. Faced with the academic problem of explaining himself he genuinely wasn't sure which would be worse. Telling a woman you didn't mean to kiss her in the first place, or when having decided in the second that, given their particular circumstances, it wasn't the act of a gentleman you'd dumped her, in this case quite literally.

From her position near Harry's feet Jane responded, "So I'd gathered, but as I'm no good at grovelling could we have this conversation once I'm not imitating a doormat."

With those words she pulled herself into a vertical position before seeking refuge in the chair directly opposite him, trying to soothe away his abashed expression with a confession. "Don't blame yourself, it was probably my fault."

Shocked out of his continuing internal debate Harry expostulated "How on earth do you make that out?"

Now it was her turn to feel uncomfortable. "You were dozing and ...I don't know what came over me but..." She faltered, decided to get it over with and then gabbled, "I leant over and kissed you on the forehead and then..."

It was a tossup who was now the more discomfited. Trying to be matter of fact, while kicking herself and deep down feeling nervous, she added, "Obviously you were thinking it was..." finishing ruefully "well we can't help our dreams." As she fought down an unexpected impulse to cry.

Harry was fighting his own impulse. Not the mannerly one that was advising him to leave now before he did anything else foolish, but the one that was inclined to back track by about three minutes and continue kissing her. Neither was good: in different ways, they'd just lead to regret, rows and, fatally, a return to their previous lengthy estrangement, thus ensuring the destruction of the one decent thing that had happened to him since Ruth's death.

Although historically Harry was rarely short of a smooth reply he was, for once, struggling to find the appropriate words to match a situation that was unexpected, unusual and very delicate. In the absence of any suitable choice he'd have favoured the defence of silence, but with Jane's eyes now staring uncertainly at her feet he felt forced to say something comforting. Emboldened by the realisation that she was feeling every bit as maladroit as himself he finally managed the risky option, the truth.

"Yes I probably did wake up to that particular imagining, as you said we can't help our unconscious mind." Taking a deep breath in lieu of a fortifying whisky he continued, "But believe me, when I realised it was you I was very tempted to continue."

If anything he'd confused her even further.

"So why ...?"

"Did I stop...out of respect."

As her eyebrows drew together in a puzzlement, which considering his past behaviours was entirely understandable, he tried again, "Jane I be lying if I said I wasn't physically attracted to you, but I want to remain on good terms and I know that I can't give you what you what you should be given in a relationship that strays beyond the borders of friendship."

She wasn't sure whether to be touched by his consideration and efforts to be tactful, not the qualities she'd associated with the Harry of three decades ago, or irritated as she enquired quietly, "Shouldn't I be the judge of what I am willing to accept?"

"Of course, but quite simply Jane you deserve better than a second best."

He was desperately trying to marshal a set of very confused thoughts into some acceptable order. He wanted to be honest and yet his attempts to avoid upsetting her were beginning to resemble an act akin to tightrope walking over Niagara Falls, and he'd always been utterly useless at emotional balance.

"You know how difficult I find this type of conversation, let's just say that unless I can be with anyone, let alone you, without..." He gave up, whatever he said would be hurtful, he'd best make his excuses and leave before she threw him out. Jane it transpired had other ideas, sighing as she picking up his abandoned thread of reasoning.

"You mean until Ruth ceases to become a shadowy third in any encounter."

Grateful for her understanding he nodded, "I know how that sounds but..."

It was Jane's turn to try some reassurance as with a wan smile she informed him, "What it sounds like Harry is that at nearly sixty you've finally grown up and started acquiring some emotional intelligence."

A reply that left him wondering how on earth she contrived to throw out a reasonable statement, a compliment even, and yet still sound critical? Whatever had happened to the positive affirmation that the teaching profession were required to lavish endlessly on their charges? While he was marvelling at this particular skill set Jane embarked upon voicing her own, not dissimilar, position.

"Likewise I suppose. Until the divorce is through I shouldn't even consider becoming involved with anyone. I can do without Robin laying a counter charge of adultery, and I'd willingly bet that Emma Winnick is on the phone to him right now."

Harry, greatly relieved that they'd returned to more neutral and familiar topics, broke into a near approximation of his old boyish grin, "I'd agree that we need to stick to saying that we are old friends, mainly to avoid nosey questions, but really Jane... Emma Winnick and Cock Robin - or rather Robin the Tit... are least of your worries."

"Harry..."

"Yes"

"Just don't, and don't look so innocent either, you know exactly what I mean."

"Not to worry. If I was going to kill Robin I'd have done it years ago." Casting a downwards glance at his watch he concluded with, "Anyway if I'm going to make London before midnight I should be moving."

Expecting Jane to be look thankful at the prospect of his removing himself he was astonished when he noted that all too familiar expression on her face, a combination of exasperation and resignation.

"Don't be an idiot Harry, and don't treat me like one either. I'm assuming that you didn't just drop into see me tonight without a reason - so tell." It was a command rather than a request.

Harry almost sighed, he knew it was foolish to have come but it was equally plain that he wasn't going to get out of the front door without giving Jane some explanation for his presence, and on her record of detecting his lies it had to be the truth.

"I didn't have one reason." He smiled at her glare, _'I can still get a rise out of you, Jane' _and headed off the imminent explosion, "I had two." Taking advantaged of her dumbfounded reaction he disappeared into the hallway and, having located his outdoor coat ferreted around in its deep pockets, before reappearing in the sitting room holding three small packages in his hands.

"I know that the children are visiting you for Christmas so I thought I'd drop off your presents in person." With a touch of ruthfulness he admitted, "It's unlikely I'd see Graham anyway."

A statement that instantly made Jane feel guilty, especially since Graham had been to visit her only a couple of weeks previously, _'Sorry Mum but I just can't cope with Dad at present'_ as she stuttered, "Well if you'd like to ..." only to be interrupted by Harry's reassuring her, "No Jane not a hint ... I'm working on Christmas day – although I might just about manage to pull a Christmas cracker with Malcolm."

"Not the female variety I assume then."

Harry laughed outright, "Hardly. We'll be manning the Grid, someone has to check the terrorists don't take advantage of everyone in the Western World being stuffed with mince pies and goodwill."

Jane nodded as she asked, "And your second reason?"

Harry began to writhe inwardly, "Ah not sure you won't think that inappropriate after the er incident we were discussing but..." reverting to delaying tactics he asked, "You know that next year we have the Queen's Diamond Jubilee closely followed by the Olympics?"

"Not having been stranded on a desert island for the past few months of course – what of it?"

Harry suddenly felt his mouth go dry, this was an utterly idiotic request but once launched he had to finish, "Well these events have a number of official receptions and events attached to them and ...well I need ..." He paused and shrugged, prior to uttering a despondent, "Forget it."

Noting his almost comical diffidence as he'd inched his apprehensive way through his not quite proposition Jane was repressing an urge to laugh as she attempt to clarify what had been left unsaid, hoping she'd not misinterpreted his intentions, "Harry are you by any chance making an enquiry about my availability to be a plus one?" Harry having noted that she certainly didn't look affronted at the suggestion confirmed her guess, "I mean no strings, but it would help me out and give you some good networking opportunities if you were so minded."

Presented as fifty percent for him and fifty for her Jane had no difficultly in divining his more hidden motive. "I assume you mean that you need protection from predatory females keen to soothe your hurts. "

As ever she'd seen through him. "I know that sounds conceited but..."

"No need for modesty Harry, remember I've seen the effect you have on women first hand. '_And been a victim myself come to that' _Of course I'll help you out, I need to visit London more frequently these days anyway so just send me the dates so I can organise myself." As an afterthought she added, "And promise me one thing."

Harry hesitated, reluctant to ask which impossible condition she was about to make as an excuse to renege on her just given word, "Which is?"

"Don't get shot, it cost a fortune getting my dress cleaned after the last event we plus oned at."

Harry was nearly sagging with relief, "I'll try to avoid that eventuality. Thanks and now I really must go if I'm to make London in reasonable time."

Jane rolled her eyes as she complained in a mournful tone, "Now you've got what you want, you depart. Typical."

Harry was about to apologise and reassure her when he caught the mischievous glint in her eye.

"Well I'd hate you to think I was an entirely changed man."

"Leopards and spots Harry, anyway I suppose that you prove the truth of that old feminist saw." Unable to resist his quizzical expression she continued,"It's not an exact quote but is something along the lines that when a woman chooses a mate for life she has a choice between something wild and exciting like a mountain goat, or tame and uninteresting like a goldfish."

Harry could have been affronted but instead chose to laugh, "Well you can let me know which category you think Towers comes into, he was asking after you the other day. I think you made quite an impression there."

"Almost literally when I cannoned into him at the Reception. Anyway if you do have to go I'd best fetch your coat."

Jane vanished to pick up said item leaving him to contemplate the tenor of their conversation. Had he been right to come? On balance he thought he had been. Despite the acute embarrassment of their inadvertent tangling on the sofa they had established a level of understanding and some ground rules, nor was what he'd admitted to Jane a lie, with the Christmas party season in full swing he'd been forced to swat away some very direct feminine approaches, Jane and her tongue were a very acceptable, not to say decorative, form of defence. His reverie was disturbed by a loudly proclaimed, 'Damn,' emanating from the area currently inhabited by Jane.

Curious as what had brought forth the exclamation he wasn't left in doubt for long when Jane reappeared carrying his coat and wearing an annoyed expression on her face. Accurately assessing his worry as to what he'd done now she hastily explained, "Sorry Harry I'm furious with myself for leaving my scarf behind at the Hall."

"Surely you have more than one!" Harry found it hard to believe that Jane, whose wardrobe could never have been described as under stocked, was so attached to a particular item of clothing.

"Of course I have, but this happens to be a silk scarf Catherine brought back from her travels."

That testy reply made sense, Harry had a couple of odd gifts at home, small object's d'art that Catherine brought home from her travels, and he cherished them for that very reason, a symbol that his child had thought of him. Not that Jane had any cause for concern; a simple solution was at hand.

"I have a picklock with me so if we head down to the Hall I can..."

Jane broke across his forthcoming suggestion with a scandalised, "Harry you can't."

"And the alternative?"

"I go the Vicarage and ask James for the key."

Harry really believed that she was making an unnecessary fuss, a quiet trip and click to the Hall lock and the matter would be resolved, but he recognised determination when he heard it, and was fearful that if he argued she'd recall why she hated his job, and with that recollection withdraw her consent to being his plus one. The women who kept stalking him were a far greater risk threat to his well being than the loss of time implied by tamely bothering the cleric. Especially when the latter was almost certainly cosily ensconced at home, recovering from the evening's revels while trying to compose a sermon that might just be listened to, so doing things Jane's way was hardly likely to delay him by more than fifteen minutes or so. Sighing with the resignation of one whose only real choice was capitulation he agreed,

"Very well Jane put your coat on. I'll escort you there, and to the Hall. Then we'll pick up my car on the way back which will allow me to drop you home before setting off myself."

Jane inevitably began with unnecessary disclaimers which he stoutly cut across, he'd only stand for so much nonsense.

"Yes it is necessary Jane. This may be a quiet country village but the paths are more like a municipal skating rink, do you really want to risk a broken leg for Christmas."

Jane subsided, not entirely overborne by his arguments but, glad of his company which she'd rather missed since her return to singledom a few weeks ago, did as she was bid and muffled herself up in a warm woollen coat before grabbing her keys accompanied by a single word, "Ready."

Once outside the freezing air again made them catch their breaths. Harry's quick glance towards the Winnick mansion revealed that while the potentially envious audience, ie Emma Winnick, may have drawn her blinds, an infinitesimal twitch indicated that she was still on watch. Really did the woman have nothing else to do – no wonder her husband drank to the point of almost oblivion!

Thinking of neighbours reminded Harry to enquire of Jane, "Was there a problem at Mabel's? You were gone rather longer than I'd expected."

He had to wait a few seconds for a reply as Jane was fighting to stay on her feet. When they finally reached the marginally less frosted portion of paving that lead down to the bridge, and thence to the green where Harry had parked his car, she managed to deliver a semi breathless explanation.

"Ah that was due to Crispin Winnick, Emma's son calling round. He'd sneaked out the back door and come to apologise to Mabel for his parents' behaviour." After catching her breath she owned up an earlier misjudgement. "I used to think he was as awful as the rest of the family but recently he's joined the local Army Cadets and they seem to have taught him a few manners and sense of responsibility. Anyway whatever the reason he's turned into a very nice boy, his Mum doesn't know but while she's out and about spreading her poison he's been undertaking various bits of heavy gardening for Mabel for free."

"Ah nothing like the military to drum some discipline into young men. I should know."

"Yes I'm currently clutching a shining example." Before Harry could work out if this was sarcasm, he never quite knew with Jane these days, part of the attraction he supposed, she added a piece of information that startled him slightly, "And of course that is why Emma loathes James."

"Sorry you've lost me!"

"James our vicar, he's ex military and chaplain to the local Army Cadet Force. Emma blames him for Crispin joining, in that arty household it's all a bit too macho."

That nugget of information explained why Harry had felt an instant sense of kinship with James, although he did wonder how he'd fetched up in a country village. Not wanting to ask obtrusive questions, he'd use the Grid sources for that, he turned the conversation as they crossed the silent green, currently something of misnomer given its crunchy underfoot coating of white, its light colour illuminated only by the dim moonbeams, partly obscured by a few straying clouds.

"Speaking of young men Wes wanted to know when you are turning up at his school. They're hoping for more on the 'Titus'."

"Next term but I thought we'd work on Macbeth – the lust for power, betrayal of friends, the sheer paranoia of wondering who is planning to topple you."

"Sounds like my working life."

Jane caught the odd note of sadness but didn't have time to pick up the reference as they'd now reached the outer edge of the frosted green. Opening the gate that lead up to the slightly shabby house on the corner, that Harry assumed served as the Vicarage, she approached the door. Ringing the bell firmly she was surprised to receive no reply. When a second long ring was equally unforthcoming she turned to Harry with what, under cruel glare of the security light, was a washed out troubled face.

"Strange, he should be back by now unless..."

Taking advantage of the pause for thought Harry asked "Unless what..."

"Well I suppose he might be checking something at the Church, I know we've a couple of days to go before Christmas but..."

Harry repressed a groan, if only she'd let him break into the Hall it would be so much easier. Not wanting to refloat that solution he suggested as evenly as he could, "Then let's go and check."

Jane was feeling ultra guilty by now. If only she'd kept her mouth shut about the scarf, which she could have retrieved tomorrow, Harry wouldn't have been delayed and by now would be well on his way home. He was looking as if exhaustion was permanently etched upon his face. With a pang she recalled that it was only a few weeks ago since he'd been fighting for his life. Knowing him, and having had the eye opening experience of life as an honorary spook, she was quite certain that he'd not been taking life easy, more likely he was back to working silly hours eased by only by the relaxation of overdosing on whisky. Still she'd dragged him so far and the church was only a short slither down the lane.

Hugging arms again they approached the church, both noticing almost simultaneously that the large van that had been so inconsiderately parked earlier had been moved. Just about to voice her pleasure that its owners had seemingly departed from the village Jane suddenly felt herself being jerked backwards by Harry, his other arm suddenly going around her neck, his hand across her mouth stifling the exclamation she was about to make. Before she could begin to struggle she felt his breath warm on her ear as he hissed, "Quiet Jane and don't move. Do you see where that van is now?"

As the constricting arm eased she glanced up at him, the sight of his eyes grim and alert only increased her apprehensions. Following his line of vision she noted that the vehicle in question had only been moved about three yards and was now standing so near the gate to the church pathway that it was virtually blocking all access up and down the deserted lane. As her eyes focussed she discerned faint lights moving around in the dark of the churchyard.

Turning back to Harry she was about to ask but he'd second guessed her, saying in a very low whisper designed to carry only as far as her ears,

"I don't know what is up Jane, but with James absent from the vicarage it's nothing good." Fishing in his pockets he produced his car keys.

"Take the car, go home and ring for help."

Jane was about to argue with his peremptory tone when a crash, followed by a loud alarmed shout echoed across from the direction of the graveyard. Releasing her Harry turned towards the sound as he instructed her staccato style.

"Jane. Go. Now."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. If you have a moment a review would be nice. <strong> _


	5. Chapter 5: The Battle of the Churchyard

**Thanks to those who read and also for the lovely reviews. Now we find out what the van was for.**

* * *

><p>Unusually, almost uniquely, in the annals of their three decades plus relationship Jane didn't argue. Snatching the proffered keys from his hand she sped away as instructed, moving as swiftly as the icy conditions of the ground frost would allow. Mercifully any sound made by her retreating feet was stifled by a series of noisy exclamations, probably swear words, shouted in a language that Harry readily identified as originating from some quarter of Eastern Europe. The semi distant splutter of a car engine easing into life reached his ears, providing a satisfactory confirmation that Jane really had obeyed his orders and was now exiting the danger zone. With the removal of any worries regarding her immediate safety Harry was now free to focus his full attention upon the clandestine events taking place within the otherwise deserted churchyard.<p>

From across the dividing lane the silhouette of the church loomed, dark and massive, the basic outline of the tower, long nave and slightly higher chancel roof etched against the night sky, any more specific features being rendered indistinct in the limited moonlight. The only other occasional illumination to be espied was emanating from the east end of the church, well away from the porch and pathway area. From there, partially hidden from the lane by the clutter of gravestones and winter stripped bushes, Harry could discern a haphazard movement of lights, now you saw them, now you didn't. Not being of a fanciful turn of mind Harry instantly discounted any supernatural explanation for the phenomenon as he mentally computed the most likely explanations for the presence of the not so stealthy individuals flitting around in the freezing cold. He could only think of three. Firstly that a group of latter day Burke and Hare's were at work. Secondly that a raid on the church silver was in faltering progress, or, recalling his two hours since casual conversation with James -Harry Pearce made it a habit to remember what elephants forgot – the local lead thieves had decided to pay a festive visit, presumably not with the intention of bringing gifts for the baby Jesus. Process of elimination implied the latter. The vestry, the traditional repository of the parish valuables, was situated on the far side of the church, while the prevailing climatic conditions ensured that any attempt to dig deeply within the cement like ground would require the services of a pneumatic drill, a process that would be neither discreet nor soundless.

Conclusion reached, now for the working theory. What was he going to do about it? Regular church going had never featured prominently on Harry's social calendar. Although confirmed into the Church of England as a rite of public school passage once the days of compulsory chapel were behind him his attendance had mainly been confined to marriages (dress code: morning dress or full military monty), baptisms (would the baby bawl the place down, or referencing Graham, fill its nappy at the inappropriate moment) or funerals (far too many). However, the realisation that some imported criminals were in the process of despoiling the heritage of England's churches brought Harry the true born Englishman roaring forth. How dare they! The most prudent, not to say sensible, course of action would of course be to retreat and contact the police himself, but having obeyed his first primeval instinct, which had been to get Jane away from any potential danger, he was confident that by now some forlorn soul on the constabulary switchboard would be coping with his ex in full demanding throttle. Despite his long ago translation into a desk spook there was nothing like the prospect of a little field action to stir Harry's blood. Anyway he had a good excuse for interfering: by the time PC Plod bestirred himself the culprits would be long gone, taking most of the church roof with them.

Tracking the pattern of the moving lights confirmed Harry's assumption, namely that the persons unknown were working in the graveyard with purpose. Assessing the number, brilliance and position of the light sources, torch he thought, plus judging by the height of one beam either a rope or a ladder was being employed, possibly in conjunction with at least one miner's headlamp useful for hands free purposes. If the church roof was indeed being stripped out that made sense: and also supported his overall conclusion that lead thieves had targeted the village church with a view to easy pickings. That also made sense; they weren't to know that they were being closely observed one of MI5's finest. While they continued to thieve on oblivious to this unfortunate fact, Harry, his presence securely sheltered by the building that conveniently formed a juncture with the lane, was referencing his never rusty field craft skills as he surveyed the lie of the land and other associated problems spook style. In accordance with his lifetime of training he was mentally breaking down the potential operation into clearly defined small sections and solutions.

First task: before he could contemplate undertaking any action to interfere with their depredations he needed to reach the churchyard. Second task: as he was a man on his own his trump card was that the criminal group were unaware of his existence. If he was to retain the advantage of surprise he needed to cross the lane and enter the church grounds unseen. A requirement that in its turn divided into two separate but related risk assessments.

Risk A) he had to remain invisible. Admittedly the locale did not boast the luxury of street lighting, a boon to those currently up to no good amongst the graves, but now that the thin layer of cloud had passed away from the half moon hanging in the night sky, visibility was, he judged, sufficiently ample to allow him to be noticed if someone happened to glance in his direction as he moved, even clad as he was in a dark overcoat and trousers. It was a risk that he could not ascertain in its entirety as it was out of his total control. All he could do was pick the most likely time to make a dash for it.

Risk B) the sounds that had raised Harry's suspicious antennae in the first place had apparently been that of a hamfisted someone dropping something – shame it hadn't taken one of the gang out. After a few seconds pause it would seem that the group had now reverted without fear of discovery to the continuation of their original nefarious tasks. From a practical standpoint Harry understood their reasoning, what sane person would be out for a walk in this temperature with all the decent pre Christmas telly and booze on offer. Unfortunately the very crisp frosty air that was carrying the sounds of the observees Harrywards would, of course, act in reverse, thus forcing Harry into the almost impossible position of having to move noiselessly.

Having concluded all of this in a matter of seconds Harry, taking account of the angle at which the van was parked, decided that his best bet would be to adapt it as a shield. Its position should mask his initial approach, allowing him to creep around its bonnet, then provided that he bent double as he scurried across the lane he should reach the church gates without incident. The latter fortunately being built to a sturdy design that boasted a lower part of composed of solid wooden planks, just high enough to screen a crouching figure from the view of those inside the curtilage.

An exploratory stretch of his leg confirmed his recollection that since, despite its narrowness, the lane formed a main access road in and out of the village it was smoothly tarmaced, and therefore would, if he moved cautiously, deaden the sound of his shoes, especially shoes that were handmade with soles designed for quiet. He'd not infrequently tested that feature by creeping up on some minor malefactor inside the Grid, now recalling the crunch of the gravel when he'd approached the church hunting for Jane he would have to take the chance that his expensive footwear would work as effectively in the exterior world.

As he prepared to put his plan into action for once fortune smiled on Harry's schemes. The thieves still blessedly unaware that they were not the sole representatives of the human race to be abroad in the bitter cold, chose that precise moment to halt and hold a discussion, giving Harry a brief window of opportunity. With a swiftness that belied his bulk he reached the edge of the van. Pausing for a moment and then with three quick, virtually silent steps he was secreted behind the gate, hidden with his heart pumping at rate he'd not experienced for years. It wasn't just the temperature that was reminding him of his Cold War days.

Taking careful stock of his new position Harry noticed that the half of the gate opposite to him had been left ajar. That at least negated the possibility of his position being revealed by the squeak of an unoiled hinge. Leaning cautiously forward he completed an operational reassessment, if he crawled the very short distance across the pathway towards the opposite graves he would avoid the risk of his footsteps making any loud scuffling sounds on the gravel, while also solving his Christmas present problems at a stroke. The likely damage to the knees of his trousers would ensure that all he'd want for Christmas was a new suit. Still compared to what else he'd sacrificed over the years in the interests of the state the damage to his clothing was negligible, and infinitely cheaper than that currently being wrought upon the church architecture. Trusting that the criminals were fully focussed on their own activities he inched furtively forward, wincing as one or two sharp pieces of gravel made painful indentations in his knees and lower leg. Thankfully His hands were protected by his black leather murdering gloves. Any sounds he made in his covert passage were slight enough to be attributable to the nocturnal foragings of any small animal willing to brave the cold in search of food or shelter. Reaching the icily grassed verge without mishap Harry swiftly dragged himself into an area darkly shadowed by the triangulation of the church wall, gateway arch, and a very large, tall, squared based monument of the type commissioned by wealthy Victorians and Edwardians to wordly commemorate the passing of entire families. Useful for now, but any further clandestine progress might be difficult. Harry was all too aware that unlike the majority of municipal cemeteries, in which the deceased were laid in serried rows beneath the council design approved headstones, the riotous individualistic hotch potch of grave kerbs and smaller hidden plaques in the average churchyard formed a considerable trip hazard for anyone wishing to traverse the area in broad daylight, let alone the December dark.

Any leisurely contemplation of his next move was terminated by the sound of one - no that wasn't an echo - two pairs of feet crunching down the path towards the gate. Harry had to think quickly. Fumbling around his hand lighted on a round reasonably sized stone, small enough to grip, heavy enough to create a formidable weapon. He would have the element of surprise, so he reasoned, if he let the first man pass by he could tackle the second, and then attempt to knock out his companion when he turned. As plans went it was risky. He still had the third man, whose presence was indicated by the pinprick of light near the church chancel. The odds weren't in his favour but when had that ever stopped him? Gripping the stone Harry prepared to spring, only to be suddenly wrong footed himself.

By his rough estimation the two unknowns had just about reached the half way point between the church and the gateway area where Harry lurked at the ready, when with a sudden yawp the first one collapsed, his unexpected descent in turn creating a domino effect as his companion tripped over him. Before Harry could recover from his surprise a darkly clothed figure emerged from behind a tombstone - this one topped by an icicle clad angel pointing heavenwards - and proceeded to initiate a process that warmed the cockles of Harry's combative heart – that of plucking the second figure up from the ground with the clear intention of beating the shit out of him.

From the deliberate way in which the unexpected newcomer to the mix moved it was obvious to Harry's expert eye that he'd been the recipient of some highly effective professional combat training but, as Harry also knew all too well, fights had an unpleasant tendency to produce a significant amount of noise. From his vantage point not only was the first man bestirring himself and finding his feet, the racket had, judging by the speedy way in which the light had turned, attracted the final third of the trio. If you couldn't beat them, join them, although technically Harry was unsure as to exactly who he was beating, and even more uncertain as to the id of who precisely he was joining. In the absence of any other figures emerging it would seem that the black clad pugilist was waging a solitary war, one against three, the odds Harry himself had expected to face. A little extra input was dictated. Operating on the theory that it was unlikely that the same country church had attracted two sets of evil marauders in one evening Harry followed instinct. Take what help you could to disable the opposition and save the questions for later. Not having much time for intellectual debate instinct was all he had to go on, allied with a sense of fair play. The first man had now heaved himself up from the gravel and having failed to note Harry still shrouded in the shadows was moving to help his mate. The noise of the fight having obliterated the sound of Harry moving swiftly up the grass verge, his presence was only registered by Robber the First when that individual found himself suddenly seeing stars, whose dazzling presence was owing less to incipient beauty of the night sky, and rather more to the sharp clump administered to the side of his head by Harry's hand still clutching the stone. Watching his victim keel over Harry felt the flare of satisfaction that accompanied a job well done but otherwise had minimal opportunity for self congratulation. The distant third man no longer seemed so distant as he bore down upon the still mysterious figure in black. In the time it took Harry to drop the stone the two remaining members of the trio were united in attacking the unknown quality who'd ambushed them from behind the angel. Stepping quickly over the unconscious body littering the ground, seven very quick strides brought Harry up behind the more recent arrival. Grabbing this last comer into the fray by both shoulders Harry hauled him out of the melee, and as his captive twisted around, took advantage of his hapless opponent's temporary lack of balance to produce one almighty thrust that sent the man crashing violently across the path head first into an upright gravestone. Having landed safely against the unyielding granite the most recent victim of the Pearce wrath slithered to the ground where any remaining strands of consciousness were firmly squashed by the imprint of Harry's serviceable well polished shoe upon his face.

Job done Harry felt safe to turn his back and render aid to the mystery man. His concern proved to be superfluous. The last man standing was now lying on the ground, writhing in pain while the apparition from behind the angel grave was pointing a shot gun directly at him. With a very quick glance in Harry's direction the person politely greeted him.

"Thanks for the help. I wonder if you'd be kind enough to fetch me some rope. I left it in the church porch."

Recognising the voice Harry's lips began to twitch. This had all the makings of a story he would really enjoy dining out on, but for now he simply replied, "Of course," before returning up the increasingly familiar pathway, as the well spoken voice floated after him, "Sorry I should have mentioned, you'll find an electric light switch just inside the porch door to the right."

Reaching his destination Harry scrambled his hand up and down the wall as bidden, finally encountering a switch that when depressed stubbornly refused to light up. Squinting into the gloomy depths of the porch he was about to call out asking where exactly the rope had been deposited when his foot came into contact with something substantial but moveable. Bending down he realised that one of the men, probably the one he'd chucked against the gravestone had dumped a large flashlight when hurrying to help his friends. Taking the not strictly legal view that finders were keepers Harry plucked it from the ground and, flicking it on, shone its beam around the porch, finally locating the expertly coiled rope, the purpose of his errand, resting snugly beneath the time scarred wooden bench that ran the length of one of the walls. Hurrying back to the pair on the path he held up the rope as he asked,

"Would you like me to do the honours, or would you prefer me to hold the gun?"

The answer came back without hesitation, "As I have the licence I'd best retain it."

Harry nodded gravely, "True it wouldn't do to break the law now would it." As he uncoiled the rope preparatory to tying it in knots around the now groaning figure he asked, "But do you think you could dispense with the balaclava James?" Even occupied as he was now fastening a pair of resisting arms behind a back he registered the start of astonishment as he continued, "It is you isn't it? James Endersley, vicar of this and a couple of other parishes. I know clergy usually favour black garments but shouldn't you be wearing a dog collar as well."

Showing an admirable ability to recover from surprise James replied in a casually shocked tone, "White on night time manoeuvres!" After a short pause during which Harry completed his task as directed - with the touching addition of stuffing a handkerchief firmly into the mouth of the protesting prisoner –he straightened up to be greeted with a further request,

"I'm grateful for the help but who exactly are you?" An ambiguous sentence that made Harry wonder if his true identity had been rumbled by this very unusual cleric. He'd find out in a few seconds he supposed.

"Harry Pearce, Jane's friend. We met earlier this evening." Wanting to avoid any really awkward questions he didn't give James time to respond as he continued, "Do you have any more rope? I really think we should tie up the two Sleeping Beauties before they come round."

Actions speaking louder than words James vanished behind the increasingly unangelic tombstone only to reappear coiling up a thin rope as he approached. It was an action that answered the question Harry the professional had internally been mulling over,

"Ah so that's why the first two went down – a trip wire." Almost as a mischievous afterthought he added, "I don't like to criticize. I'm aware of the concept of muscular Christianity, but isn't this a bit extreme?"

The reply with a glint of humour was swift accompanied by James handing Harry the rope, "I suggest we tie them up as a bundle, and I don't like to criticize but I rather got the impression that your job was to advise on crime, not act as a vigilante."

Giving lie to James' earlier impression Harry, the man of action, heaved the man still sleeping peacefully against the gravestone onto the gravel while James, following suit, dragged Harry's earlier victim up the path. For a few minutes no words were spoken as grunting in unison they trussed the two together, and then having secured them to a gravestone – engraved with the pious mantra _'nearer my God to thee'_ - retreated to the porch. Taking the flashlight from Harry James shone it around the area and then muttered, "Damn, they must have knocked out the electricity, I wonder if it's just the porch, or is it the church as well."

Removing a heavy duty key from his pocket of a size that made Harry wonder if this was the clergy equivalent of the old quip '_is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me_.' In Harry's past that had actually been a serious question on more than one occasion. In the present the key did its work and the weighty door creaked open, releasing stone chilled air that was only marginally warmer than that of the porch, carrying with it the ancient church whiff of musty hymnbooks and hassocks. James plunged into the interior with the confidence of one who was so used to the place he could literarily have found his way through it blindfolded, which was fortunate given that it was near pitch black, until suddenly there was a flood of light followed by James' heartfelt audible prayer of thanksgiving.

"Thank God. Getting an electrician out just before Christmas would have been nigh on impossible."

Entering the church yet again, this time in James' wake, Harry promptly displayed his age by sitting down heavily on one of the rear most pews, his knee was groaning a little, his shoulder was hurting a lot – making him shudder at the reaction of Nat Reynolds if he ever discovered the truth. '_Harry you are cleared for driving but excessive activity will give you a shoulder that matches the knee.'_ Regretfully Harry was concluding that the activity he'd been indulging in, much as he enjoyed the odd field job, was somewhat excessive for one of his years. He might be aching but physically he looked less damaged than James. During the high octane throes of doing unto others as they would have definitely done unto him James had collected an eye that already developing a technicolour bruise, and was gingerly rubbing the back of his head, an action that brought forth a slight grimace. Standing with his back resting against the cold grey walls James, having checked that he was still more or less in working condition, fixed Harry with a stare that would not have disgraced a habitué of the Grid as he fired the opened salvo in what bade to become a session of mutual interrogation.

"So Harry what were you doing near the church?"

It was a fair question, one that Harry could, for once in his life, answer truthfully, which made a refreshing change.

"Jane thought she'd left her scarf in the Hall so I walked with her down to the Vicarage. When you weren't at home she thought you might be at the church. I heard the noise of this merry little crew and sent her home to ring for help."

Harry didn't need to see James frown, his words held it, "But what on earth made you..."

"I remembered your comments earlier about lead thieves in the area, put that together with a van and a group by moonlight swearing in Eastern European it was a reasonable conclusion. More to the point what are you – a member of a profession dedicated to turning the other cheek doing acting as a clerical version of the SAS."

If that had been taken as a rebuke, which was unlikely given that Harry had little time for liberal apologists, it wasn't obvious as James fulfilled his part of the contract with an information swap.

"Much the same as you really. I guessed when I saw the van sitting outside the church earlier. This is a small village and I noted the foreign number plate. I also had a description of a suspicious vehicle from a fellow cleric whose church was damaged three weeks ago. Anyway having rung the police and been told..."

"Let me guess - no crime had been committed and they didn't have the manpower to come out on spec." Long experience was telling in the irritated bite in Harry's voice, no wonder the public had little faith in the police, although to be fair as this time of year they were probably gainfully occupied in trying to avoid inebriated drivers providing James and his colleagues a steady stream of post New Year funerals.

"Spot on. I didn't fancy celebrating the Christmas services under an umbrella in the chancel, so I thought if I could catch them then the police would have to take notice." With a sigh he added, "But if it wasn't for you I'd have been in hospital tonight."

"Glad to have been of help, but could I advise you to adopt a rather more clerical garb before the police arrive."

As Harry uttered this advice the distant wailing of sirens could be discerned. For the first time in the evening James seemed to lose his confidence as he stuttered, "But I didn't call for them."

"Jane did. I told you that, and you'd have had to do so eventually." Moving into the officer mode that Harry wore like a second skin he proceeded to instruct James. "You need to look like a cleric not a guerrilla soldier." Surveying James with a critical eye he enquired, " Do you happen have a dog collar in your pocket?"

A straightforward question that, with the merest hint of grin, elicited an exact response. "No, but I do have something in the vestry that I can use."

As James moved to make good his words Harry held out his hand demanding, "Give me the gun. Is it loaded?"

James seemed surprised at the question, "Of course, what use is a gun that isn't."

An attitude Harry found thoroughly sensible but could guarantee that it was not one that the boys in blue would thrill to.

"I might agree, but when the police arrive it would be advisable for them to be greeted by a clergyman who preaches peace on earth to all men, not one who is channelling Jesus chucking the money changers out of the Temple." As the sounds grew louder and more intense Harry cut the conversation short as he exhorted James,

"Hurry up and remember when you come back, you heard intruders, went out with the gun, unloaded, and were attacked. I came by for the reasons I gave you and helped out." Moving his eyes to James' face he added conversationally, "It's fortunate that one of them did hit you in the face."

James response was sardonic, "Thanks but I don't see where luck comes into it?"

"It saves me having to do the job and it does go rather against the grain, even with me, to thump a man of the cloth." '_Putting a kill order out on one is a little different' "_The state of your face will confirm what we tell the police."

James, while becoming ever more puzzled by the mystery that was Harry - who the hell remained calm and collected enough to come up with such a plausible story after the events of the last ten minutes or so - decided to do as his new found chum commanded. Having seen by the light of the moon the rough effects of his saviour's handiwork he thought he might indeed have been lucky to avoid being punched in the face by those firm fists and practically scampered into the vestry. From behind him he registered the sound of a gun being broken as Harry set about relieving the barrels of their live and potentially fatal ammunition.

In the time it took James to restore himself to clerical order Harry had disappeared outside and picking up the abandoned flashlight had taken the path around to the far side of the church, where out of view of James and the three amigos he lobbed the unspent bullets in a wide arc over the nearby graves, hitting the thick undergrowth of branches that coated the boundary wall between the church and what seemed to be some rough open fields beyond. Hearing, rather than seeing the slight quiver of frozen stems, almost certainly brambles, he decided that the unless the police opted for a fingertip search, an unlikely waste of manpower given that no murder had been committed and no one was missing, James should be safe from accusations of premeditation. Returning to the church porch to stoically await the inevitable arrival of the Her Majesty's Constabulary he cast a cursory eye over the bound prisoners, one wriggling furiously but unable to breakout from Harry's secure bonds while the other two, still dazed, where beginning to stir a little. From the sound of the sirens, nemesis, in the law enforcing form PC Plod and his companions was about to descend any second.

Sure enough three cars with brilliant flashing lights screeched to a halt just outside the church, one Harry noticed performing a very creditable emergency stop as they narrowly avoided crashing into the unlit van. Their arrival coincided with that of James, now with a narrow band of white decorating his throat. Taking in the distinctly unfestive flashing blue bulbs**, **whose rays were creating a hostile complement to the white chilled surroundings he murmured in Harry's ear, "Three cars, a bit excessive surely."

Harry agreed silently but knew the reason. Jane must have dialled the emergency number he'd given her, a hotline which when linked into the police switch board shrieked MI5 involvement. Not wishing to enlighten James the pair of them waited quietly and still as statues while six policemen hauled themselves out of the cars and crashed through the gateway at speed, two of them wielding lamps that had a search beam like a lighthouse. Caught in their strong light Harry and James were forced to blink like trapped rabbits as a harsh voice shouted out no nonsense instructions,

"Drop your weapon and kneel, we have you covered."

James, the law abiding model clergyperson seemed inclined to cooperate, but on second thoughts having taken his lead from Harry who remained standing bolt upright, only succeeded in producing a movement that looked like a genuflect as he part dipped before bobbing up again. Harry holding out the gun, yelled back into the dazzling beams.

"As you can see it is broken, it is also not loaded, but here." With that benediction he sent it skidding across the gravel to rest approximately half way between themselves and the police. Hissing at James as he did so, "Hold up your hands," matching the action himself as he informed the speaker.

"You'll find the real criminals on the ground, ready for your attention. And could you move the light a trifle. I do understand why you feel obliged to watch us but we can't help if half blinded."

While no verbal indication that Harry's request had been heard came, the beam did veer a little to the side. While four of the officers of the law took in the scene before them, consisting of three men bound and gagged, the van at the church entrance, judging, by the crashing and occasional swear word whistling through the air, a couple had been delegated to examine the area in which the group had been working prior to James' attempts at apprehension. From the hostile greeting afforded to Harry and James by the police presence it would seem that some discreet soul had not informed them that a member of MI5 was involved. For now, while not about to break his cover, Harry was mentally occupied in working out the relative seniority of the officers who were continuing to detain them. Uniformed, the highest ranking individual seemed to be the Sergeant who was barking out the orders. Harry trusted that those examining the crime scene would be quick in reporting back, his arms were begin to ache in sympathy with his knee and shoulder, a feeling that was only adding to his sense of annoyance. He and James had actually caught a group of thieves in the act, captured them and now they were being treated as the criminals. He'd be having a few unamiable words with Towers about this when he was next bidden to Whitehall for a consultation on the failings of law and order.

After what seemed to be an age one of the officers who'd gone to view the work of the gang inched their way back and muttered something that Harry couldn't quite hear into his senior's ear. Whatever it was seemed to part satisfy the man who fancied he was in charge, the poor benighted soul remaining unaware as to who exactly he had standing before him.

"Very well, hands down but keep them in sight. I'm sending one of my officers to collect the gun. Who does it belong to?"

He was staring directly at Harry as he said it and was in consequence totally astounded when James called out, "Mine, I do have a licence for it." Ignoring this last and having examined the gun handed to him by his minion the next questions arrived.

"What sort of vicar carries a shotgun? What exactly is going on here then? You first. " Harry seething at the brusqueness with which he was being addressed nonetheless complied, taking advantage of the opportunity to set the outlines of the story.

"I was approaching the church from over there, the road leading from the green, when I heard a noise in the churchyard. I thought it sounded violent so I sent Mrs Townsend, the lady whose call I assume brought you here, to ring for help while I went to see what was happening. I saw a figure, who I now know to be James Endersley, being attacked by a group of men. I went to his aid and between us we managed to overpower them."

The officer made a noise which sounded unconvinced, but nodded to James as he asked in a disbelieving tone, "And now your story Reverend." The inflection being on the word story.

James took a deep breath as he prepared to mentally ditch both the dog collar and the ninth commandment, salving his conscience with the theologically dubious argument of the '_white lie' _for the greater good.

"I was going to the church to prepare in advance for the Christmas services when I saw this group, when I challenged them one came at me from a blind spot and as they attacked I fought back. I thought I was going to be knocked unconscious until this gentleman arrived to help me."

The Sergeant looked less than convinced as he almost snarled, "So why the gun?"

"I usually carry it with me at night when no one is around. In fact ever since the churchwarden at Great Levington was beaten up by a group of thugs after the church collection." Even in the darkness the Harry, while applauding the embellishment to their agreed tale, could detect the police sending out telepathic hate waves at this inspirational reference to their previous failure, "I carry it as a deterrent, as you can see it isn't loaded. I occasionally go shooting with my patron."

After a pause the Sergeant addressed Harry again, "So what were you doing strolling around the village in this temperature at this time of night, and your relationship with Mrs Townsend."

Harry's rising level of irritation was woven into the snap of every syllable."That last is not really your business officer, but for your information she is a longstanding friend of thirty years plus, we were at university together. She had attended the service earlier this evening and thought she'd left a scarf in the Hall so we came down to get the Hall keys, when the Vicarage was empty we thought we might find the vicar at the church."

"And will your friend endorse this tale?"

The salacious emphasis on the word friend was almost encouraging Harry to throw caution to the wind and embark upon his second round of assaults for the evening. He was prevented only by the thought that anyone interviewing Jane with a like insinuation would receive a very short shrift, and that would be despite the earlier interlude in her sitting room, the thought of which was still making him writhe with embarrassment. Needing to answer he replied with a calm he did not feel,

"Absolutely."

Thankfully Jane hadn't witnessed the events after he's sent her scuttling for help and therefore could not contradict the carefully constructed, partly true, partly doctored narrative.

After a long pause the Sergeant finally came to a decision.

"Very well we will ask her, but in view of the condition of these gentlemen I am obliged to caution you. I'm further advising you that you will be taken to our station interviewed with a probability of being charged with GBH or possibly attempted murder."

* * *

><p><strong>So will Harry spend Christmas behind bars? Thanks for reading this far and if you have a moment please review. Just in case anyone is wondering lead being stolen from church roofs is a problem in the UK.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6: A Cosy Chat

_**Thanks to all my reviewers. The events in the graveyard continue. For those who haven't read my very long story 'Next' the chapters referenced here are No's 15 and 20. **_

* * *

><p>A quiver of anger was running up James. Harry sensing it, suspected that the latter was about to expostulate in terms that would be grossly inappropriate to his saintly calling. Given the circumstances Harry wouldn't condemn anyone for such a solecism, but before James could disgrace the dog collar Harry deemed it wise to leap into the breach. Antagonising the police in foul language was never a wise move, it might relieve the frustrations of the moment, but had a subsequent tendency to result in charges under the Public Order Act. Time to offer some diplomatic advice to the officer now waiting impatiently for them to come quietly. An imperative reinforced by the sight of one of the Constables standing three paces behind the Sergeant, almost gleefully jingling a pair of handcuffs. If the six representatives of the police force's finest were hoping to intimidate their designated captives they were about to suffer a disappointment as deep as the graves surrounding them when the elder half of their quarry, who'd remained obstinately unimpressed by these living symbols of law and order, helpfully suggested,<p>

"I really don't think that is a very sensible action on your part."

Whether it was due to the accent in which the sage advice was delivered, redolent of public school superiority, or fury at this manifestation of defiance, it was now the Sergeant's turn to imitate a volcano in the early stages of eruption as he spat back with obvious fury.

"Oh you don't do you Sunny Jim – and why not?"

Harry, notorious throughout the corridors of Whitehall for his sunny amenable disposition, explained very carefully, as if to a mentally deficient child,

"Because I suspect your Chief Constable might be a little annoyed when my solicitor complains about the treatment afforded to two law abiding citizens. Especially citizens who at grave risk to themselves managed to prevent a crime from being committed."

While Harry was maintaining a well practiced poker face as he uttered this veiled threat he could only hope that James was presenting as similarly deadpan. He didn't dare risk a glance to check. Necessity dictated that the slightest hint of collusion was to be avoided, forcing him to operate on the working assumption that anyone who obliged to deal with Emma Winnick et al on a regular basis without wincing would, through sheer self preservation, be skilled in the black art of schooling his features to neutral.

Harry's argument was ignored, but any further action was delayed while the fuming Sergeant favoured the entire throng with his grievance against the village in general.

"Not another one. Everyone in this bloody place claims to be best mates with his mightiness."

It was an irate, potentially mysterious comment that, while producing instant wrinkles of perplexity across James forehead, explained much to Harry, who vividly recalled the incident of a few weeks ago when the CIA had come a visiting with the intention of grabbing Jane. Or to be strictly accurate what Harry was remembering was the description of its aftermath as reported by Laura Dixon, the aspiring spook. Even if Jane hadn't been involved that event would have stuck in his memory due to the astounding revelation of the seemingly colourless Laura's well hidden, utterly unexpected, talent for mimicry.

As dramatically recounted from Laura's Intel when Emma Winnick had been confronted by the police she'd unwisely insisted that she was on first name terms with the Chief Constable. Shortly afterwards Mabel had overheard the pompous Robin making a similar claim, which had gone down brilliantly with the hapless policemen he'd been abusing, in particular with the one who'd just been thumped in the face by the absconding CIA. As a direct result of having met Emma Winnick and Mabel in person earlier in the evening Harry had privately resolved to recommend Laura for further training in the techniques of working undercover. While Harry was surprised that James was seemingly in the dark concerning this unusual invasion of a peaceful village, further consideration told him that Robin was unlikely to have recounted events in which he had not exactly shone, while any sensible male would have automatically tuned his ear to block out the witterings of Emma and probably, much as Harry had liked her as a person, the perennially tongue clacking Mabel. The decision to harness Laura's extraordinary acting talents in defence of the realm, however desirable, could only be actioned when Harry returned to London, if he returned to London, which was unlikely should PC, oops no Sergeant, Plod prevail in his pig headed insistence that Harry and James were due a night's hospitality in the cells. Harry remained stubbornly unenamoured by that happy prospect: toilet paper that resembled barbed wire, no comfy pillow on which to lay his balding head, and the ultimate depravation, no soothingly expensive malt whisky: therefore NO WAY.

Knowing that it was MI5 in the person of Laura who'd called the police to distract the CIA, while she and Jane had made their escape, in theory Harry owed the police one, particularly since he was now apparently eyeball to eyeball with someone who had been injured in the resulting collateral damage. Tough. In Harry's world violence and fraudulent claims of friends in high places was an occupational hazard. They were most certainly not a reason to sympathise with police officers who were wantonly ignoring the basic fact that Harry and James were not criminals. Or rather - mildly infected by the miasma of religion that pervaded his present surroundings - Harry amended that mental assertion to the somewhat more accurate one that he was not a culprit on this occasion, or not a major malefactor. Privately, in general terms, Harry accepted that he could hardly lay claim to much in the way of innocence. After the events of the past hour or so he wasn't entirely certain about James' moral standing either. That however was not his chief concern. It was a safe assumption that, if the James judged that he had seriously erred, he could almost certainly would be on the blower to God, squaring his conscience as soon as he was afforded a private moment to converse with the deity.

While Harry was calmly waiting - no hurry, other the fact that they were all beginning to shiver with teeth that were threatening to double as castanets -the Sergeant had finally returned his attention to the more immediate matter of Harry's opening salvo. Recovering slightly the uninformed, uniformed one added sarcastically "You'll be telling me next that the Chief has to obey your orders." A sally responsible for sending a slight ripple of amusement through his brown nosed subordinates.

The response to that supposed clincher was responsible for several satisfactorily dropped jaws, James' included,

"Well yes actually he does."

His sparring partner remained openly sceptical. "Think you're God almighty do you?"

"Not exactly. I remain to be convinced of his existence – sorry James – whereas I am definitely sure of mine. Could I suggest that you permit me to show you my identity card?"

Not actually awaiting the permission of someone who was stunned by Harry's adamant refusal to roll over and die - a gun would be needed for that and mercifully the only one handy had been disabled by Harry himself – Harry reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted his official identity card which he proffered without moving from the spot he was still standing in. Forced to approach his obstreperous opponent, having walked forward and virtually snatched it from Harry's hand, the effect on the Sergeant, as he read and digested its meaning, was instantaneous.

Crest lowered as he returned the card its triumphant owner, the man who was in nominally in charge gave way, "Ah I see. My apologies Sir Harry obviously I made an error." Still determined to avoid a total rout and working on the erroneous theory that Harry was only concerned with preserving his own skin he insisted, "But I still need to take in Reverend Endersley."

Harry's tact and patience, never his more obvious attributes, had finally worn out, with the consequence that the frost in his voice made the crisp freezing air seem warm and balmy by comparison as he gave an initial pretence of agreement.

"Indeed, do so if you wish to make the constabulary a laughing stock." Descending to seriousness he firmly but authoritatively confirmed his obstructive stance,

"Arrest a vicar just before Christmas when he was trying to defend himself and preserve part of the nation's heritage from foreign thugs. Especially when he'd requested police help earlier and had it refused!" While the law enforcing audience spluttered he added the clincher, the dreaded prospect of trial by media. "Do that and the _'Daily Mail'_ will be stuffing you like a turkey, although it will probably fall to your Chief to do the roasting."

Reluctant to give up, but staggering under Harry's verbal pounding the reply was a stuttered, "I, er."

Pressing his advantage Harry responded with "Quite so. Now can I suggest that I take Mr Endersley back to the Vicarage and if he needs medical attention we'll ask the local doctor to examine him. I understand that he only lives a few houses up the lane. If you remove these individuals and do whatever is necessary here you could take a statement from Mrs Townsend and then come to the Vicarage for ours."

While the Sergeant was still fighting to come to terms with having the entire operation smoothly removed from his control leaving him thrashing for a fig leaf of credibility, an emotion that several other victims of futile attempts to best Harry would have empathised with, Harry offered a verbal olive branch, handing over another card as he said, "My work contact details. If you are minded to forward any information about these three I'll authorise a check against various databases you don't have access to. It could be your lucky night if you can lay claim to collaring a dangerous set of individuals."

With that he nodded to James and the pair made their unimpeded way back down the gravelled path before Harry, having reached the comparative safety of the gateway, turned to throw out his parting rebuke.

"Incidentally Sergeant when you address a clergy man of the Church of England unless he happens to be a Canon the correct mode is Mr, save the Reverend for envelopes."

As they disappeared into the night, leaving the Sergeant still dumbstruck at the mere suggestion that he might have got lucky, a brave constable falteringly asked, "Er, Sir what do you want us to do now?"

Recognising that he was beaten on all points the Sergeant instructed, "What Sir Harry said I suppose. Adding with feeling, "I hate this sodding village, the last time I came here I got assaulted."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading. If you have a moment a review would be appreciated.<strong> _


	7. Chapter 7: The Vicarage

_**Once again thanks to my faithful readers, especially to those who left reviews. **_

* * *

><p>Once they had safely escaped the police, now out of mutual sight as Harry and James hurriedly rounded the bend screening the church and its precincts from the nearby road the Vicarage was situated on, Harry was anticipating a barrage of questions from his pugilist companion. A move that would be unwise given the clear carrying quality of the frosty air combined with the relative proximity of the still infuriated uniforms. To his surprise James remained as silent as the graves they'd just turned their backs upon as they steadily trudged the short distance towards his front door. Harry, although grateful for this reticence, having already been puzzling over James' provenance, was finding himself increasingly intrigued as to how come a gun toting action man prancing around in a clerical collar had ended up ministering to a set of parishes stuffed with twee middle class liberals, as represented by the now absent Robin Tindall, not mention, definitely not to mention, the regrettably still present and utterly pretentious Emma Winnick. At least the events of the last hour had provided a possible solution to one question that had been puzzling him, namely why the agnostic Jane had become heavily involved in local church politics. She must have warmed to James both for his commonsense and his outsider mindset. Then an alternative explanation struck Harry. Oh God she didn't fancy James, did she! Harry had heard about cougar women but he'd never thought of Jane in that light. He himself was too elderly to be preyed upon in that way, or so he hoped, the prospect of being stalked by an eighty plus pensioner lacked appeal. As he'd explained to Jane earlier in the evening he'd recently experienced enough difficulties when politely, but firmly, rejecting the amorous advances made by women of his own age, or even younger.<p>

The uneasy silence continued while James unlocked his door and gestured Harry inside a sizeable and very draughty entrance lobby. From there it was just a short step into the much warmer sitting room, a comfortable space designed for relaxation, its most dominant articles of furniture being a large screen television and squishy sofa. In any normal bachelor pad Harry, observing the length and breadth of the latter with awe and memories, would have unhesitatingly characterised it as a seduction sofa but since he presumed that James' calling required him to live up to the demands of the dog collar, rather than down to those of the eternal Adam of the underpants, Harry therefore assumed that the it was used just for solo crashing out. Books, papers and general jumble implied that James spent most of his free time holed up here. Given the size of the Vicarage that was understandable. Harry might be more personally organised on the tidiness front, but when a breach in his personal security about a decade ago had required an enforced change of residence, tired of rattling around a family sized property he'd grabbed the opportunity to downsize to a smaller house.

While Harry was noting all of this, his host, throwing his own coat carelessly over a nearby chair brusquely informed him. "I don't need the doctor." Before belatedly remembering his manners and asked the most pressing question of the evening, "Can I offer you a drink Sir Harry, tea, coffee or something stronger?"

After the freezing events he'd just played his part in Harry would just about have sold his soul, what was left of it after years of MI5, for a whisky, but not being sure if James' drink cabinet extended beyond the traditional vicar's sherry he shook his head regretfully,

"As I still have to drive back to London and the breathalyser squads are out in force I think coffee, please."

"Probably best. If tonight is typical of your encounters I'm guessing that the uniformed service would just an impeccable excuse love to arrest an MI5 officer."

Harry wasn't certain if this rejoinder should count as a criticism or whether it was intended merely a truthful observation on the realities of life as he lived it. While he opted not to react to this ambiguity, James, morphing into formal pastoral mode now that the immediate emergency had passed, if only for the moment, added, "And Sir Harry do feel free to take off your coat and sit down."

"Just Harry please." the titled one replied while he was biting on the bullet of how best to explain his presence without giving any real information about himself, or his delicate standing with Jane, "and I suppose you must be wondering..."

Only for James to interrupt with a sardonic grin, "Not required, once I glimpsed your id card and heard your full title a great deal became clear."

"Indeed." So exactly how much of his personal cover had been blown? The professional variety was now plainly past praying for.

"Tell me if I'm wrong. I overheard you telling young Wayne that you had a grown up daughter and son. I'm guessing that they're called Catherine and Graham, which makes you Jane's mysterious ex husband." Before Harry could respond James corrected himself, "Or rather her first ex husband."

"As she's still technically married to Robin you were right the first time." It came to him. Deflection: that was the technique to utilise. Steering the conversation away from himself Harry expressed his mirroring curiosity about the person he'd suddenly ended up in cahoots with – the most unvicarly vicar he'd ever encountered. "Anyway that's not half as mysterious as to how a cleric who apparently spends his spare time rehearsing for a trial with the SAS winds up as the vicar of a sleepy country parish."

As he said it he wondered if James would take offence, judging by the reply seemingly not.

"No great mystery there. As Jane may or may not have mentioned after being ordained I became a chaplain with the army, I was sent to Helmand**. **I was also engaged to be married. My fiancé wasn't happy, frightened, claimed it was the threat of danger. So I came out and entered parish ministry. Then she announced that she wasn't happy at the prospect of being married to a clergyman and wanted me to resign my orders. It was her or the church." He paused for a moment, from the sudden determined set of the jaw Harry recognised with a jolt the pain of someone being rejected by a woman he adored. Was this what he'd looked like for months, and still did in odd unwitting moments of remembrance? When James' next words struggled forth they took the form of an almost an unspoken rebuke to Harry's earlier flippant thoughts in respect of James' attitude to his job.

"I know people scoff at the idea of vocation, but despite my antics in the graveyard I feel called to this, so reluctantly I chose the church."

"Not an easy decision I'd guess." Giving James a few moments to recover himself Harry asked, "I'm still a little puzzled though, I've been unfortunate enough to encounter your bishop, he thinks the security services are a symbol of state oppression, and places the army within the same set of brackets, so how on earth did you manage to swing an appointment in his diocese."

Harry was almost shuddering at his recollection of that particular prat in purple, as red as baboon's backside with the patronising air of one who though he alone had a hot line to God. The mitred personification of the old saw that there was no one as illiberal as a liberal, everyone else was wrong and had to dragged to see the glorious light as revealed to him, the divinity's mouthpiece. As an advert for atheism Harry might have respected him, as member of the House of Lords with a voice and vote on security issues affecting the nation Harry inclined to the view that he posed a bigger threat to the nation's defence than Al Qaeda.

James flashed a brief boyish grin that reminded Harry of himself several decades ago when outwitting superiors, "He didn't have much choice, the living's patron is Sir Bertram Calthorpe-Smythe, he's army born and bred, Colonel of the outfit I was attached to. He appointed my predecessor here on ecclesiastical recommendation, only to have him offend the traditional sensibilities of many of the congregation, so this time around he wasn't about to agree to any suggestion floating out from the Bishop's Palace."

Harry was becoming intrigued by the internal village wars, which no doubt echoed in miniature his daily round and common task, leading him to a sparse two word query, "What happened?"

"The bishop's choice shared the bishop's views on the military and beyond. He actually refused to allow any red poppies in the church for Remembrance day, white only were allowed. He was also unwise enough to launch into a tirade about wars which included referring to the Falklands War as the _'Falklands Folly'_ seemingly either oblivious, or uncaring, that one couple of elderly parish stalwarts had lost their son in that skirmish." Harry who had had to endure much in terms of loss was aghast at the sheer insensitivity being recounted. James after a brief pause for breath continued his tale of clerical incompetence. "In the dark you probably didn't notice the CWGC gravestone tucked away in the churchyard. I've been told that the entire village turned out for his funeral. Anyway after that incident, for which he refused to apologise - even worse he took to the pulpit the following week to criticise his critics for criticising him - the congregation numbers began to drop like a stone." James then added with a cynicism worthy of Harry, "More importantly from the diocesan perspective so did the church income with the result that the bishop's blue eyed boy was persuaded that his talents lay elsewhere, in some quasi advisory post I believe."

That was a manifestation of the religious life that Harry could truly believe in without need for agnostic caveat. "Sounds fairly typical of everyone's management."

Harry was talking to the air. James, having made his not so wild guess about Harry's identity and having also disclosed the salient points of his own life story, had vanished into the kitchen leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that were almost immediately interrupted when his mobile began to vibrate. What a surprise! It was Jane calling, probably to berate him for something or anything. Picking up he didn't even have to speak when Jane gasped with evident relief,

"If you can answer I assume you're alright. I was worried. The police rang to say they are coming to take a statement but didn't say what had happened."

Harry blessed the police for their failure to act quickly in corralling Jane as a witness. Or just possibly they had left the opportunity for collusion open in the hope of quick file closure. As the monosyllabic youths Harry occasionally had to interview would have said, "Whatever."

"James and I are both fine, although James was roughed up a little. Jane you just need to tell them what you actually saw and heard. Leave any lying to me."

The reply was a cross between a chortle and gurgle, "I know – the next part of the sentence is '_I'm so much better at it than you._"

Harry's voice held an answering smile, "Yes, I've never been sure if it is a life skill or job requirement." In the background he heard the unmistakable sound of a doorbell being pressed. "It seems they've arrived. Don't worry Jane, compared to some problems I've had to sort out this is a minor incident."

Having rung off he turned to see James standing in the kitchen door with two mugs in his hand, having clearly overheard this conversation and the warmth in Harry's voice.

"Sorry I didn't intend to listen in."

Passing Harry one of the mugs from which the rich aroma of a good rich coffee was arising, James plumped himself into an armchair leaving Harry to follow suit on the sofa. Harry was thankful for the opportunity to flop, he wasn't about to admit it but his only just healed shoulder was aching like hell, the natural result of his ill advised activity of the evening. Harry as he sipped his drink reassured James,

"It wasn't entirely private and I know enough about the C of E to be aware that confessional rules can be applied to personal exchanges with a priest."

"And are you requesting that?"

"Not particularly. There's a difference between a solid secret and something that for preference should be kept private. I can't really see you rushing to gossip with Emma Winnick."

James' look at revulsion at the idea of confiding in that women was succeeded by the inevitable question, the one Harry had expected but had hoped to avoid, as James having swallowed a reviving mouthful of his own drink replied thoughtfully, "If I offer you confessional rules will you please tell me exactly what you are doing here, especially in relation to Jane." As a form of encouragement he added, "My interest is purely pastoral. I'm very fond of Jane and would like to see her happy. She's said little, but I know from what she hasn't said that she's had some difficulties over the last couple of years. Then she vanishes unexpectedly for three weeks and on returning announces that she and Robin are divorcing. She seems like a new woman. It reminds me of one of Les Dawson's jokes."

Harry almost laughed out loud, "After tonight I'll have to revise my view that the church had gone PC. Which joke did you mean?"

"The one where he says he's just got rid of sixteen stone of unwanted ugly weight, he divorced her. I don't quite have his delivery though."

Swap the gender, ignore the fact that Robin was somewhat lighter in person, and Harry reckoned that James had got it in one. The evening so far had been full of surprises, so topping it off by swapping confidences with a clergyman, a member of a profession that condemned outright the majority of activities that formed Harry's working life, was only the last of many. Normally this was an activity he would have passed on, but James was apparently cut from a very different cloth to the more usual wet liberals, zealots or airy intellectuals who claimed to be God's representatives on earth. Joint experience of battle was leading to comradeship, just as it had in his army days. Other than Malcolm he'd made his best friends there.

"Very well, like your reasons for being here it isn't really very complicated." '_Am I trying to convince myself or you James?'_

Sinking more deeply into the sofa cushions Harry tried to condense thirty five years of coruscating emotions into a few sentences. "Jane and I divorced after about ten years of marriage. It was an utterly painful experience for both of us and set up a situation in which we hardly ever met or even communicated. We both more or less went our own ways, especially after Jane remarried." Harry paused to sip his drink wondering whether to express a candid opinion of Robin. Deciding that discretion was the better part of confession he left that aspect of the topic well alone, he didn't want to sound either bitter, which he had been, but had now put behind him, or critical of Jane, which he had been, but had forgiven as far as possible. "As far as I knew Jane was happily married and once the children were grownup our contact was minimal. Then a few weeks ago Catherine our daughter went missing. For reasons I can't tell you due to its being an official secret someone decided to bomb her flat and Jane was injured as result."

Glancing he saw that James was listening with interest but wasn't about to interrupt. Harry briefly debated whether this was clerical training or had James been taught the same elementary techniques of low level interrogation that Harry himself was such a master of. Harry wasn't intimidated and proof against this, but he had made an agreement which he needed to fulfil.

"Because I was down to be contacted if anything untoward happened at that address I was called to the hospital expecting to see Catherine and instead found Jane. It took quite an argument but in the end she agreed to accept my offer to stay overnight at my house. Once it became clear that Catherine really was missing it made sense for her to remain with me in case of news. I'm not saying it was easy for either of us but we did manage to rub along together. All together we were sharing my roof for about three weeks during which time we both concluded that we'd prefer to remain friends."

Harry's hope that this truncated story would be accepted without further query was disappointed when James quietly asked, "And Robin Tindall. It seems a little strange that she decided to divorce just after a few weeks with you."

Harry nodded, "Exactly, which is why I don't want my identity bruited around the village. Most people would jump to entirely the wrong conclusion. The truth is that during her stay I discovered that her marriage with Robin really had broken down and the way he was treating her..." Harry reined himself back as he said with a deliberate effort at calm, "Well I wasn't a saint myself and didn't treat her well when we were married, but I drew the line at deliberate calculated blackmail to the point of abuse." See James start he hurriedly added, "Not physical, mental." With that misapprehension corrected he rushed to finish his exposition, "I persuaded her to let me help her with the divorce. That's all."

James had a distinct feeling that wasn't quite all but it had more or less satisfactorily filled in a few basic gaps. "From what I saw tonight you seemed to be well suited as a couple, so what really went wrong."

Harry almost groaned, "Various theories, including my being too young and too stupid to realise that you can't have your cake and eat it. Basically though other women and the job. Jane got really worried and wanted me to leave, give up, find another profession and I just wouldn't. I couldn't imagine doing anything else. In the end she couldn't take it."

James nodded sagely, "I can see the problem. For obvious reasons I'll make no comment about other women but as you will have realised I do understand about the job. You may well have been right not to compromise, if you'd have been working as square peg in the proverbial round hole."

After a pause during which James was trying to work out a tactful way of commenting on what he suspected was only half a story he stated quietly, "I am in no way criticising Jane or you. If there's one thing I've learnt as a clergyman it is that no one ever knows the truth of someone else's relationship." Moving further into the realm of light touch counselling James continued slowly and thoughtfully, "But have you ever asked yourself if you and Jane would have been any happier if you'd given into that pressure? How you might have reacted if you'd spent your life working in a post that made you miserable, always feeling that you should be doing something else. Wouldn't you have ended up resenting and blaming Jane for that?"

Such understanding was unusual in Harry's experience, during the early painful reverberations of his separation from Jane he'd frequently wondered if he should have succumbed to her blandishments. It was comforting to have his long ago decision affirmed, even if it was about three decades too late, although all he was prepared to admit to was, "I'm not exactly thrilled most days even doing the job I elected to do."

"Maybe not, everyone hates what they do at times. Vocation doesn't just apply to the clergy, it's simply is doing what you feel called to do, what you do best, perhaps whatever the cost, that is how you feel about MI5."

James suddenly broke off as he'd caught sight of Harry's face, the pain was palpable, "I'm sorry, but what..."

Any further discussion was halted by the sound of the front door bell. Heaving himself out of the chair James groaned, "I do hope this isn't about the church boiler or another row about the flaming flower rota."

When he returned he was accompanied by two policemen, and even more astonishingly Jane, making Harry ponder very briefly as to whether this was the fulfilment or the failure of a prayer. In a room full of men it was the lady, taking full unfair advantage of their manners who spoke first.

"Just as I thought, I bet neither of you called in Luke Willis."

If the police were confused Harry wasn't, as once again he patronised the ignorant, "The local doctor Sergeant, also a police surgeon for emergencies, lives three doors up, and Jane when we came in his house had no lights on, so I assumed he was out." Answering James' questioning look he almost smirked, "I didn't listen in vain to Mabel."

Jane forced his attention back to the nub of her argument. "Well he's home now, and with the black eye James is sporting and your recent shoulder injury you should both be checked out."

The male chorus of protest was given a very short shrift. "Sorry I wasn't under the impression that either of you are medically qualified. I'm not arguing with you all night so I'll go and knock on his door, I assume I can make it without being attacked since the thugs' accounts seemed to have been settled for now."

With that casually snide incautious reference to the dubious truth surrounding the events that had seen them foregathered in the Vicarage she'd escaped out the front door before anyone could protest, the draft of freezing air that insinuated itself into the warm living room indicating that she'd left it ajar. Harry and James just exchanged glances before Harry commented, "Well I don't suppose a medical report will come amiss will it?" This almost casual attitude to the official procedures leaving the much tried Sergeant struggling to be polite. Seething beneath the formality of his words he declined to answer the only half posed question "As you are aware Sir Harry this is very irregular. I have taken Mrs Townsend's statement, which supports your story." The entire intimation being that enough wool to make a chunky sweater had been pulled over his eyes as he concluded with, "And now if I can take yours and the Rev...Mr Endersley's before returning to the station." Staring around the room he asked tersely, "Do you have anywhere private where I and my constable can take your statements individually?"

Taking the opportunity to obviously ignore Harry, who whatever else he claimed to be was most certainly not the householder, this last statement was addressed to James. Totally unintimidated James rose from his chair with deliberate slowness, moved to the door and pointed out a room opposite, "I assume the study would be adequate."

"Very well, I'll see Sir Harry first. If you could come this way. Sir." The final Sir was almost spat out like an insult. Harry whose main motivation was to get the plods out of what remained of his hair ignored the provocation, "Of course. After you officer."

James' hadn't even had time to pick up the two abandoned coffee mugs with the intention of depositing them in the kitchen before the tramp of feet across the front door indicated the success of Jane's mission of mercy. Her entrance was followed in close order by that of an elderly bespectacled individual carrying the statuary doctor's bag, whose whole demeanour stated that he'd seen it all and could do without seeing it again. At the sight of the latter's expression James began to mentally arm himself in preparation for an interrogation far worse than the one he anticipated from the police. Luke's antipathy to evening callouts was notorious, not so much due to a misplaced sense of professional arrogance but rather to a quest for personal survival, "The village has expanded to around three thousand souls of whom about twenty percent are hypochondriacs, I'd be on call every night." James's first thought was Jane must have really spun a sob story to get him here, until Luke's opening words indicated that he hadn't needed much encouragement, betraying a very human desire to know a secret that for once wasn't confined to an intimate description of bowel movements.

"So I get to meet the mystery man who's earned Lottie's approval and according to Jane encouraged your thirst for fisticuffs. Really James I have enough with the flu and seasonal broken bones, you don't need to add to my work." Having surveyed the room he enquired about the main attraction responsible for levering him out of house and home. "And where is the stranger in our midst?"

Jane was also gazing around uncertainly, making James wave his hand, "Across the hallway giving a statement to the police."

If Luke was disappointed he made a tactful stab at concealment as he extracted a couple of instruments from his bag with the phrase, "I hate wasting time so let's get you checked out." Examining James battered features in more detail than a lover, "Hmm at least two punches in the face, let's see the back of your head." Fingers running over the lower part of James skull drew forth an agonising "Ow."

"Quite a lump developing, tell me did you lose consciousness at any point in these events?"

"I don't think so." Under a gimlet eye he faltered, "I was chucked against a headstone with quite a crack but I don't think..." he was saved further explanation by Harry's reappearing saying, "Your turn James. Just confirm what we told them earlier."

If Luke's eyebrows were raised at all at this utterance he disguised it by gazing into the depths of his capacious bag, waiting until the study door had snapped shut before commenting in a fierce whisper, "I'm old enough to know when a line is being spun, so just what do you need me to say?"

After an apprising glance and knowing he had no choice other than to trust Luke, in a very low hushed voice Harry outlined the events of the graveyard, causing Luke to groan resignedly, "Oh James. Personally I like the boy but I could cheerfully strangle that ex fiancé of his for stringing him along and then dumping him literally in this parish. He really ought to go back into the army."

Meanwhile Jane having listened to the sequel that had taken place after she'd fled the scene was wearing a worried frown. "But what happens when a translator produces the true story from the thugs. You might be able to avoid appearing in the dock but James won't. And he won't lie on oath either."

Leaving aside the not entirely inaccurate implication that he would happily commit perjury if necessary, Harry tried to reassure her. "He won't have to. All he'll have to say is that he hid behind the gravestone just in case he was wrong and someone was visiting the graves to place a Christmas wreath. I noticed some people had done so, making it believable that with a gun in his hand he wouldn't have wanted to alarm anyone there with good intent."

Jane was still looking dubious as Harry added, "It's quite likely that it won't come to court. I've offered to run some checks and if they are on the radar for worse crimes the Crown will probably go for those." While trusting that Jane had picked up the subliminal message '_I'll make sure of that'_ Harry was suddenly remembering that Luke was not aware of his true identity. As he'd prefer it stayed that way he backtracked verbally into his evening's legend adding smoothly, "In my capacity as a civil servant crime advisor."

Luke and Jane both seemed about to speak but were prevented by the door opening, indicating that the police had taken even less time with James than they had with Harry. With six of them all standing and cluttering up the now crowded sitting room, wearing the face of one who really had had enough for an evening the Sergeant almost snarled, "A word Doctor!"

Luke had more than one as he answered brusque and to the point, "I will submit a report stating that James here has substantial bruising and facial damage consistent with being assaulted, and also has defensive marks on his hands suggesting he was protecting himself. Sir Harry has further strained a shoulder that was subject to a dangerous amount of damage a few weeks ago, again consistent with trying to help and fend off attacks."

Out witted, outpointed, and pissed off the police departed for the night leaving behind them the complicit quartet frozen like statues as they waited for the sound of the police car to rev up and then squeal its way out of the village.

Luke was the first to speak, addressing Harry directly in a voice that made it plain he was standing for no nonsense and was no respecter of titles to boot. "Right recent shoulder injury so jacket, shirt and vest off please." Jane sensing Harry's unwillingness to strip in public, presumably in front of James, after all she'd nursed him while he recovered from his latest injury and seen all there was to see of Harry over the years - even when there had been considerably less of him to ogle at - suggested with a quiver of amusement, "If you've suddenly turned modest Harry perhaps Luke could use James' study."

Harry was about to protest until Luke reminded him, "I could always contract my statement, those officers would be delighted I'm sure." Combined with Jane's pithy, "Do you want me to ring Nat Reynolds?" he submitted, trekking back into the study as he wondered what Luke would make of his battered hide, and what story he could formulate to explain it away.

As a mental endeavour the effort was utterly wasted, since Luke, as he dumped his bag on the desk, bluntly informed Harry, "I'll sign the Act if you insist. Now let's get you checked out."

Harry, becoming alarmed at the speed with which his profession was being revealed, asked interrogatively as he removed his upper clothing. "Jane told you that I'm MI5."

"Yes, but before you bawl her out she was genuinely worried – after she explained about your brush with death a few weeks ago so was I." As Luke pulled a stethoscope from his bag he added sarcastically, "I have got to say after listening to your adventures of the evening I'm wondering exactly what lies the security services tell us on a daily basis."

Harry's reply wasn't exactly comforting "Fewer than the politicians I assure you."

Luke wasn't really paying close attention, instead he was now fully occupied surveying Harry's scarred skin with professional admiration as he remarked, "With that number of scars it's just as well she told me where the most recent injury was – Ah yes I see now, still a little raw. Lift your arm please."

Harry managed to do so without grimacing but wasn't so lucky when the next command came forth, "Now rotate please – yes I saw the wince. Sit down and let me feel." As Luke's surprisingly gentle fingers probed his shoulder and not meeting Harry's eyes he asked, "Are you planning to become a permanent fixture in Jane's life?"

"I really don't know." Harry wasn't sure if Jane would have mentioned he was her first ex and was determined not to volunteer the information. He'd withstood torture from implements infinitely far more vicious than anything Luke was likely to wield.

"Well just remember she had a bad time with Robin Tindall. In my opinion he's a self aggrandising twerp whom she is well rid of, and that is not breaking confidentially, I wasn't his doctor." Having expressed his views Luke snapped his bag shut, "Very well you can cover up now." With that he stalked from the room leaving Harry to pull his clothing back on. His identity had been well and truly rumbled, although on the bright side the two individuals who had done so were both employed in positions that required them to maintain some semblance of zipped lips. That they had also made it plain that they were regarding Harry as a welcome form of pest control when it came to ridding the village of Robin, was a welcome bonus.

While Luke was inflicting this pale shadow of the third degree upon Harry across the passageway James and Jane were having a not dissimilar conversation. Begun when James with a smile commented lightly, "So your past has just turned up for Christmas Jane, or is he your present."

"Truly I don't know James. It's difficult."

"Are you so sure, it seems fairly straightforward to me. After years of misunderstanding you've both discovered what you once had."

Jane shook her head wistfully, "I doubt we could revive that even if we wanted to – and he probably didn't mention that he was desperately in love with someone who died a few months ago, in tragic circumstances he blames himself for. He's not ready for another relationship and neither, to be honest, am I. Plus we're both a bit old to begin again anyway."

"So what is he doing here? Jane he might be your past but if he's here he's also very much part of your present. As for your last sentence I'd guess that you are both in your late fifties. Realistically with current life expectations neither of you are so old that you don't have a future." Taking a very deep breath indeed as he remembered his earlier comment to Harry about the difficulty of probing the relationships of other couples he added, "I'm not advocating that you rush into anything, but I am advising you to give yourselves time."

Jane was saved from the necessity of replying by the reappearance of Luke, followed by Harry still buttoning up his shirt and tieless. The appearance of Harry without his neck choker struck a chord with James, reaching his hand up to the neckline of his own shirt he pulled the strip of white enclosing his throat out of the side slots holding it in place and threw it onto the coffee table. Harry squinted at it with interest, as a dog collar it didn't quite correct, not long enough and a little tatty at the edges complete with a strange sheen. James followed his eyes,

"Vicar's emergency tip. I told you it was a substitute, PVC plastic cup cut up, does the job in emergencies."

"I'll never see a dog collar in the same light again."

Luke was tired and having slaked his curiosity brought them to attention as he interjected. "Right you asked for my professional opinion. James I'm taking you to A&E. I want an X ray on the bump, we can't risk our vicar keeling over at midnight mass. Harry I'd advise no driving tonight. The shoulder hasn't sustained any damage but I'd rest it overnight."

Jane laughed, "Your turn to sample my spare room Harry – and don't argue. I know you always keep an emergency overnight bag in your car."

Given the time versus distance versus his own exhausted state Harry hadn't been about to dispute Luke's prescription of rest. Not willing to admit to a vulnerability he picked up on her last word to enquire, "Which is where at present?"

"In my drive, so you have to come back with me. Don't worry Emma has drawn her curtains at long last. She saw me leaving with the police so by now has probably informed the entire village that I'm under arrest."

Harry turned to take polite leave of James, "Thanks, I hope no lasting damage to either you or the church."

James replied gloomily "I'll probably have to contact the insurers tomorrow. I foresee an interview with the bishop in the New Year when he informs me that my violent tendencies make me unsuited for ministry and invites me to resign. Just as well I have freehold or I'd be out on my ear. As it is he may threaten to withdraw my licence."

Ferreting in his coat pocket Harry handed out the second card of the evening, "If his Bishopric gives you any problems contact me. I'll tell him where to stuff his mitre. If he refuses I can safely promise you that he'll end up with far greater scandals to deal with than a pre Christmas spat in a country churchyard."

Before James could debate with his defender the ethical dilemma that Harry's well meant offer presented him with ,- the one that made James ask himself whether it was morally acceptable to save his own skin at the price of someone else's especially since he was actually guilty as he would undoubtedly have been charged had it not been for Harry's rank pulling intervention - Harry and Jane were gone, leaving James and Luke alone staring at one another questioningly.

It was Luke who spoke first, "I don't normally interfere but Mabel mentioned to me in the Hall that Jane seemed really pleased to see him. I knew he was her ex the minute I saw him – Jane's son is his spitting image."

That was one piece of gossip that hadn't been poured into James ears from his usual source: Mabel. "I wasn't aware Graham had visited!"

"A very quick call. Came on a motor bike and asked directions. When I looked suspiciously at his Hell's Angel style leathers he explained his business. It was the afternoon Mabel always goes to have her hair set otherwise she'd have known who Harry was. Anyway she was very taken with him, said he seemed to be a real gentleman. Even more surprisingly Lottie agreed and you know how difficult she can be."

"Neither of them are bad judges of character despite one being a bit authoritarian and the other a chatterbox. Regarding the pair who've just left all I can say is that while they both have a huge amount of past baggage to resolve they are fooling themselves if they think all they feel for one another is friendship. They just haven't realised it yet or are – to use the popular phrase - in denial. "

Luke for the first time since his arrival sounded a touch anxious. "Do you my getting think that getting Harry to stay overnight with Jane will give them the shove they need? Honest opinion minus clerical morals please."

James pondered for about two seconds before giving his considered opinion "Well we can only pray for them," His addendum descended to a less elevated, albeit more practical plane, "And also that Emma Winnick keeps her curtains closed, since she certainly won't do the same with her mouth."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading and if you have time a review would be nice.<strong>_


End file.
